


confessions should be better planned

by imaginationismymuse



Series: when love was found [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Allura (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Angst with a Happy Ending, But she has no time for your shit, Everyone else has the same roles pretty much, Feral Keith (Voltron), Fluff and Angst, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, James and Adam are Good Guys, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Friend, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Nothing too hectic but Keith is not a mentor who gives a shit about drinking ages, Older Keith (Voltron) - Freeform, Older Pidge (Voltron), Pidge is a Menace, Protective Keith (Voltron), Protective Shiro (Voltron), Quintessence-Sensitive Keith (Voltron), Role Reversal, Sexual Content, Underage Drinking, Young Shiro (Voltron), Younger Matt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29534649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationismymuse/pseuds/imaginationismymuse
Summary: When a time limit is put on his life, Shiro's dreams of following in his grandfather's footsteps crash and burn. Until a joyride goes wrong (or very right) and he meets the Galaxy Garrison's ace pilot Keith Kogane.This is their story.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron), Minor Keith/James (Voltron), Minor Shiro/Adam (Voltron) - Relationship, minor Lance/Allura (Voltron) - Relationship
Series: when love was found [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2190246
Comments: 26
Kudos: 60





	1. you kind of struggle not to shine

**Author's Note:**

> The artist whose lyrics I am using for the title and chapter names is Dermot Kennedy and the song is An Evening I Will Not Forget. Check it out. It's a beautiful song.

**chapter 1: you kind of struggle not to shine**

Before he found out about the disease, he dreamed of the stars. His grandfather had been an astroexplorer, had been on the first pioneering mission to Saturn's moon Titan (at that point, the furthest humans had been from Earth). He had gone back a second time to establish its first space station.

Shiro still remembers the stories, sitting on his _sofu’s_ lap, grey eyes Shiro had inherited from him wide with wonder. 

It’s what he remembers as he sits on the hospital bed, listening to the doctor explain his disease. Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis - in short, he’s falling apart. At fourteen, he has an expiry date (three to five years; ten if he’s lucky and his respiratory system doesn’t give up on him). 

In his backpack next to him is his acceptance letter to the Galaxy Garrison. His grandfather died two years ago and all Shiro has thought about since is following in his footsteps. His grades are perfect. He _excels_ in his extracurriculars. **He got in**. 

_“The world isn’t fair, Takashi-kun,”_ he can hear his grandfather’s voice. _“Never forget to fight.”_

What now? He wonders, kicking his legs out, letting them fall back. He can’t fight his own body. 

His mother is talking with the doctor, and he knows she’s going to discuss this to death (his death). Amy Shirogane has never found a problem she can’t solve. Shiro knows this will wear on her because there is no fixing this. Before he can get swept up in the whirlpool of his own imminent demise, a hand lands on his shoulder, grounding him (and he tries not to resent being _grounded_ ).

His father. 

“This is not the end, Takashi-kun,” his father murmurs in Japanese - their private language, as his mother has never managed to get the hang of it. 

“Yes, it is,” he states. “I can’t fly.” 

The grip on his shoulder tightens. “Maybe not as far as you would like, but there is still time to learn to fly.” 

Shiro snorts. His father knows _nothing_. 

***

Depression is an odd thing. Whenever he pictures depression, he pictures darkened rooms, numbness, and days without leaving bed, without talking, without _anything_. 

But he’s _furious_. All the time. 

How dare this disease steal his future. It’s stolen something he never even got to have, only gaze at from a distance, only dream about. 

He’ll never get to leave Earth’s atmosphere now. His mother had spoken to the doctor, because of course she had, and the verdict had been simple: leaving Earth (even a quick jaunt to the moon) would put too much pressure on his already over-taxed body. 

“It’s your choice, Takashi,” his mother tells him, seated across the dining room table, a brave smile on her face as though this is hardest on her. “We won’t stop you if this is your dream.” 

_You’re going to die anyway_ , is what she can’t say. So he does instead and the tears in her eyes feel like vindication. He leaves, storming out the house and into the storm that rages (and that feels vindicating too). He hops onto his hoverbike, a birthday present his parents were hoping would distract him, and guns the engine. The wind whips at his face as he tears out of the suburbs surrounding Plaht City and into the desert.

It’s stupid and impulsive and _reckless_ , and he’s none of those things. 

He’s intelligent and level-headed and _responsible_ , and right now? He loathes being those things, feels the weight of them stifling him. As though someone were standing above him, boot on his throat. He throws his head back as he ramps off a hill, whooping loud enough he can be heard over the crack of lightning. 

Shiro’s going to die so he might as well live while he can. 

It’s this thinking, as he pushes his hoverbike to go _faster faster faster_ , that blinds him and he misses the cluster of rocks until he’s almost upon them. There’s no time for him to lift his hoverbike and though he tries, his left wing buckles with a small burst of flames. Off balance and out of control, he jumps off sideways as his bike goes into a roll. It crunches and screeches and his heart’s in his throat as his last source of freedom comes to a sickening stop and goes quiet. 

He chokes out a sob as he stumbles forward, running his hand over the damaged purple metal. He’s _furious_ , enraged, spitting fire. And he’s got no one to direct it all on but himself. Himself and his useless, broken body. 

He doesn’t hear the sound of an approaching vehicle, nor does he react to the headlights that catch him in their glare. The rain has eased off somewhat but the wind howls and the occasional lightning bolt still spears across the black sky. 

“Are you Takashi Shirogane?” a graveled voice asks. 

His fists clench. Of course his parents alerted the authorities. “Leave me alone.” 

“I’ll take that as a yes then. You okay?” 

“No,” he bites out. 

“You _look_ fine.” The man lets out a low whistle. “Impressive considering what that hoverbike looks like.” 

He whirls around, fists clenched, feet braced for a fight. “Leave me alone!” he screams. 

He can feel the tears running down his face now and he’s embarrassed to be crying in front of this random person. This person who is standing there, silhouetted by the headlights of his own hoverbike, with his hands cocked on his hips.

His voice, when he speaks again, is small even to him. “Just leave.” 

The man tilts his head. “You look like you need a drink.” And it’s so unexpected that his mouth drops open and he sputters something nonsensical. The man turns on his heel and saunters back to his bike. “Come on, Takashi.”

Shiro follows without really meaning to and accepts the helmet he’s handed (and now he’s embarrassed again for not having been wearing one in the first place). He’s an idiot - no matter what his teachers think or his grades say. He’s a world class idiot.

“We all do stupid things sometimes,” the man remarks. And Shiro jumps because he hadn’t realised he’d said that out loud. “But aside from a few scrapes, it looks like you made it out just fine.”

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Hop on, Takashi -”

“It’s Shiro.” He snaps the buckle of his helmet into place. “Only my family calls me Takashi.” 

“Shiro then. I’m Keith,” the man says easily, swinging his leg over the hoverbike. “I knew your grandfather.”

That stops him in his tracks. “You’re from the Galaxy Garrison. You’re Keith Kogane.” 

There’s a flash of white teeth in the dark as Keith grins. “Yeah. Come on, we can talk more once we’re out of the rain.” Shiro climbs on behind Keith. “Hold on,” Keith calls back to him.

He tentatively winds his arms around his grandfather’s protege. The hoverbike roars to life beneath them, vibrating through him, and they take off - much the same as when he left home. This time though, he’s protected from the wind and the rain by Keith’s back. 

***

Keith doesn’t take him home but to a shack not far from where he crashed. It’s old and small but well-built and clean and _warm_. Shiro hadn’t realised he was chilled until he steps inside and a shiver runs through him. His t-shirt and shorts are soaked through. 

His second realisation upon being confronted with Keith Kogane in a well-lit room is that he’s _gorgeous_ , jaw-droppingly so. He’s taken off his red leather jacket (hanging it neatly on a hook by the door) and now stands in a blank tank top, skintight jeans, and combat boots. A set of dog tags lie around his slender neck. His raven hair is scraped back into a stubby ponytail, though a few obstinate strands frame a sharp, angular jawline. And when he turns the full force of indigo eyes on him, Shiro feels his cheeks redden and his heart stutter. 

“I’ll get you some dry clothes. I have some of my old ones lying around somewhere.” 

“Uh, t-thanks,” Shiro stammers as Keith opens an old trunk sitting next to a sofa with a faded rose pattern. 

He _tries_ to ignore the flex of well-toned biceps but he’s fifteen for Christ’s sake and the man is a sex god. There’s not much weight on him but what there is, is pure muscle (lean and lethal and _Shiro’s just found out his type_ ). He doesn’t realise he’s staring until Keith straightens and turns. 

He wings a brow. “You okay there?”

Somehow, he feels his cheeks grow redder and he scowls. “I’m _fine_.” 

“Cool. Put these on.” He tosses Shiro sweatpants and a t-shirt. “Bathroom’s just through that door.” He nods at a door next to the fridge. “I’ll get us something to drink. Is a beer okay?” 

“I’m fifteen,” Shiro blurts out. 

Keith’s grin is wicked. “And I’m twenty. I won't tell if you don't.”

Shiro can only blink at him for a moment then he hurries into the bathroom before he makes even more of an idiot of himself than he already has. He changes quickly, hanging his wet clothes over the old bathtub. Having dry clothes on makes him feel infinitely calmer. If he can cope (because _handle_ is not the right word for what he’s doing right now) with having a deadly disease, Shiro rationalises, then he can cope with Keith Kogane.

When he comes out the bathroom, Keith is lounging on the couch, ankles crossed, sipping lazily at a beer. Some sort of soft rock is coming from an antique stereo and there’s chips and dip on the table along with another opened beer. 

“Thank you for coming to find me,” he says and curses internally at how stiff he sounds. 

Keith studies him for a moment then nods (answering some question he doesn’t feel the need to share). “Come sit, Shiro.” 

Shiro slumps onto the couch next to Keith, careful not to touch him, and reaches for the beer. He doesn’t take a sip but begins peeling the tag off. “You said you knew my _sofu_.”

“Hiroshi Shirogane found me when I needed it,” is the cryptic response. “I’m glad to return the favour.” 

“He told me about you, before he died,” Shiro admits, and he remembers how his grandfather would sing Keith’s praises. 

_The best pilot of his generation, Takashi-kun._

“He told me about you.” Keith’s lips twitch as he lifts his beer bottle to his lips. “Always said you’d be better than me.” 

Shiro jerks, spilling some of the beer onto the sweatpants. He’s pretty sure his cheeks are fire engine red at this point. “H-he said that?” 

“He believed in you, Shiro.” 

His mood sours. His grandfather had believed in someone who was whole, not broken. “Yeah, well, he was wrong.” 

“Commander Shirogane was many things but wrong wasn’t one of them.”

“I’m _sick_ ,” Shiro spits out and he’s horrified that tears well in his eyes. “I’m _dying_.”

The room is silent except for the music and his sniffling. But there was something soothing about it. He takes his first sip of beer, finds it bitter but palatable, and downs the rest, ignoring the way the bubbles make his eyes burn.

“Found out a couple months ago,” he mutters.

Keith’s voice, when he does speak, is matter-of-fact. “When I was eight-years old, my father died. He was a firefighter. He saved a little girl my age but he died doing so. I was angry for a long time. That little girl got to keep her family and I lost everything. So I understand being angry when the world deals you a shitty hand, Shiro. I’m sorry.” 

That was it. No words of comfort. No _it’ll be okay_. No _make the most of what you’ve got_. Shiro lets out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. A little bit of the weight on his chest lessens. “I’m sorry too, about your dad.” 

Keith shrugs. “It’s been a long time now. My mom was never in the picture so I went into the system. When I met your grandfather, that was the first time in a long time that someone looked at me and didn’t see a problem that needed fixing.” 

“How did you meet him?” 

“He never told you? I suppose it’s not something you tell to your impressionable grandson.” Keith downs the rest of his beer and, for the first time, he looks bashful. “I stole his car.” 

Shiro’s laughter bursts out of him in a horrendous series of snorts but he can’t help it. It’s so unexpected. Keith is less amused, though the glare he aims in his direction doesn’t have much heat behind it. When Shiro manages to calm down, he realises that’s the first time he’s _laughed_ in months. 

“Thanks,” he manages to get out in between his remaining giggles. “I haven’t laughed like that in a while.”

“You’re welcome,” Keith grumbles.

By the time his fathers arrives to pick him up, Shiro is relaxed from the beer and _Keith_. He can still feel the dark swirl he’s fallen into. It clings to him like slime and it’ll take more than one conversation to rid himself of it, but now he _wants_ to. And that means something. 

“Come back sometime, Shiro,” Keith says when Shiro’s about to climb into the car. “We can get that hoverbike fixed up. Then I’ll teach you how to dive off a cliff on it.” 

Shiro’s mouth drops open. “Y-you’d do that?” 

And Shiro can’t see this but his father is smiling behind the wheel of the car (it was the right call to contact Keith). 

“I’m looking forward to it.”

***

Shiro’s summer is mostly spent at Keith’s shack in the desert. They fix his hoverbike and race together through the sunburnt cliffs and winding dried river beds. The first time Shiro completes the cliff dive alone, he decides he’ll attend the Galaxy Garrison. 

For as long as he’s able, he’s going to chase that feeling, that moment before he’d begun to fall, when he was _flying_. 

Keith claps his shoulder when he tells him and grins, sharp and wicked. _It’ll be good to have some real competition_ , is all he says. 

***

The next two years pass in a blur of endless hospital visits, a condemning bracelet around his wrist that he lives his life wishing would remain quiet, pain from his atrophying muscles, and _flying_. 

Despite the reservations concerning his disease, the Garrison agrees to let him attend - on probation (Shiro knows his grandfather is the only reason they even _consider_ it and he vows to prove them wrong). That changes after his first run on the flight simulator sees him blow Keith’s initial score out the water. When he steps out the sim, cheeks flushed with adrenaline and excitement, his classmates cluster around him. 

“That was amazing,” a tanned boy with golden-brown hair marvels. 

His eyes are warm and bright, like caramel, behind his glasses and his smile is infectious. He’s cute and Shiro flushes at the attention. 

“Uh, thanks.”

“I’m Adam, by the way.” Adam offers a slim hand. “Adam Whitaker.” 

Shiro takes his hand and there’s something like butterflies fluttering in his stomach. “Shiro.” 

“I know.” And Adam’s eyes twinkle. “We all know. You’re Commander Shirogane’s grandson.” 

Shiro doesn’t quite know what to say to that but a flash of black in the corner of his eye distracts him (and the rest of the class). The students surrounding him part like the Red Sea as Keith ambles towards him, hands tucked into the pockets of his officer greys. He’s _devastating_ in uniform and Shiro’s heart feels like a rock in his chest.

“Well, it looks like the old man was right.” Keith grips his shoulder and leans in to whisper in his ear. “I guess I’ll have to watch my back.” 

Shiro is sure he dies and goes to heaven. Keith’s voice is low and rough in his ear, hot breath sliding down his neck. He shivers, manages to smirk (but it’s weak and he knows it). “Guess you will.” 

Keith chuckles then steps back. “See you later, Hotshot.” 

After that, the teachers stop hovering over him. His disease fades into the background, as far as a degenerative disease can, and his piloting takes centre stage. He makes new friends too. Adam is sarcastic and funny and almost as good a pilot as him. Lance is energetic and full of himself but underneath it, he’s a good guy (and he’s always up to sneaking out) - he’s on the cargo pilot track but he’s aiming to get into fighter. Hunk is kind and a little nervous about almost anything but he’s a wizard at engineering. He doesn’t tell them about his disease. It’s not that he doesn’t _trust_ them; it’s that he couldn’t stand it if they treated him differently. 

For this reason, Keith becomes his best friend. He comes with him to his check ups, massages his muscles when they’re locked up and his body is screaming at him, and sneaks him off base for midnight hoverbike races. 

And their closeness does not, in any way, help him get over the crush he’s finally admitted to having. 

For two years he suffers in silence. His hand becomes his faithful companion and he’s both ashamed and helpless to do anything but jerk off to the idea of Keith Kogane wanting him back. He’s pretty sure he isn’t the only one. Lance _definitely_ has a crush on Keith too - Shiro can’t blame him.

But even his unrequited crush feels good, _feels normal_. He’s happy again. 

One day, he’s walking to Keith’s room (it’s Friday and they have plans to spend the weekend at Keith’s, working on their hoverbikes and getting drunk under the stars, listening to Keith’s dad’s old stereo) when he hears voices coming from a classroom. 

“You’re _fucking_ selfish.” The voice is familiar but Shiro can’t quite place it.

“And you’re not?” It’s Keith’s voice now, low and snarling. “ _You_ said this was casual, Griffin.” 

“We both know that’s _changed._ ”

“Maybe for you,” Keith retorts. 

There’s a muffled thud and Shiro peaks through the ajar door. All the blood drains from his face and into his pants. In strange combination with how his heart _shatters._ James Griffin, the second most talented pilot of the Garrison (though Keith insists he’s third, after Shiro and himself), has Keith pressed against the wall and is _devouring_ him. It’s all tongues and teeth and panting breaths and soft curses. James makes quick work of the buttons on Keith’s jacket, shoving it off his shoulders and rucking the black tank top he wears underneath up Keith's toned stomach. Keith _arches_ into the touch, a bitten off moan escaping his lips. James fixes his teeth to Keith's throat, just below the line of his uniform and Shiro swallows. He turns and hurries off, towards his room and not Keith’s. 

He doesn’t think they’ll be making it to the shack tonight. The disappointment is bitter, like the black coffee Keith needs to consume before he’s human in the morning. He tries to shove it down, rationalise it.

Keith isn’t his. 

Keith has never been his. 

Keith never will be his. 

And that’s _fine_. 

Well, it was until he saw him with James. Now he’s **furious** and it feels like he’s going to explode if he doesn’t **do something**. He punches his pillow, again and again and -

A knock on the door interrupts him. He pauses, fist high above his head. There’s another knock then a muffled voice. “Shiro, you in there?” 

“K-Keith?”

“You expecting someone else?” comes the teasing response. “You ready to go, Hotshot?”

_Hotshot._

“Um, yeah, just give me sec. I need to finish packing.” It’s a lie. He packed last night but he needs a moment. “Can I meet you at the hoverbikes?”

There’s a moment in which Shiro _knows_ Keith is analysing what he’s said, searching for whether or not something’s wrong. “Sure thing. Hurry it up. Mama Pam’s closes soon.” 

Shiro collapses against the bed. He’s breathing hard and there’s sweat beading on his brow. His bracelet lets out a condemning beep, which he ignores. He can feel the stiffness setting in but Keith can help him with that later. Because Keith hadn’t blown him off for James Griffin. 

His grin is a mile wide as he grabs his backpack and takes off at a jog. He finds Keith leaning against his red hoverbike, arms folded across his chest, a pensive look on his face. It clears when Keith spots him and his lips quirk up in a small smile. 

“Finished faffing?” 

Shiro narrows his eyes. “I _was not_ faffing.” 

“Sure,” Keith drawls then pushes himself off his hoverbike and tosses Shiro a helmet. He winks. “Let’s go, Hotshot.”

“You’re impossible,” Shiro grumbles but climbs on behind him, tucking his ever-growing frame against Keith. 

“Flatterer.” 

“Shut up and drive, Kogane.”

They’re well into their third beer when Keith drops an atomic bomb on the conversation. “I’ve been chosen for the Kerberos mission.” 

And it's so out of the blue that Shiro spits out the beer he’s just taken a sip of, staring at Keith, mouth gaping, uncaring of the beer that drips down his chin and neck. The Kerberos mission is one of the most important missions _ever_. It’ll be the furthest humans have traveled from Earth. Commander Holt is leading the mission and there’s a rumour that his daughter Katie will be going with him (no one can even call it nepotism because Officer Holt is brilliant in her own right). But the pilot… that’s been the talk of the Garrison for _months_. 

And it’s Keith because **of course, it is.** Who else?

But Keith ducks his head and stares down at his beer.

“Keith,” he breathes. “Keith, that’s _amazing_.” Indigo eyes, like nebulae, peek up at him through messy bangs. And there’s something in them that makes Shiro frown. “Isn’t it?”

“It is,” Keith is quick to say. “It’s everything I’ve dreamed of but…” 

“But?” 

Keith sighs and tips his head back, staring at the stars. There’s apprehension that Shiro’s never seen in him before. Keith has always thrown himself, head first, into everything. He’s reckless and wild and the most beautiful thing Shiro’s ever seen. 

“I guess,” Keith murmurs. “I guess the reason I always wanted to _go_ was because there was nothing for me here.” 

Oh, Shiro thinks, he’s thinking about James. “And now you have a reason to stay?”

Keith snorts. “Yeah, you idiot, _you_.” He looks at Shiro now, emotion swimming in his starfire eyes. “You’re my family.” 

And it _hurts_ to be called family but there’s also a burst of something warm and soft, like sunshine, in his chest. He’s important to Keith. And maybe it’s not in the way he wants to be but this feels more fundamental. He can be Keith’s family if that’s what Keith needs from him. 

“In that case,” and he’s proud of how steady his voice is, “I guess you’d better call me Takashi.” 

Keith stares at him for a moment then loops an arm around his shoulders, tugging him against his side. Their heads knock together. Keith draws in a shaky breath. “Okay. Okay, _Takashi_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write this role reversal for quite some time and the inspiration finally hit me! I think posting my other story after so long of not posting was the jumpstart I needed.
> 
> This chapter is based mostly on Shiro and his experience finding out he has ALS. I hadn't intended for Keith to play such an important role in this chapter (I didn't want it to completely mirror their canon history) but it just flowed out so naturally and I ended up loving it. 
> 
> I hope you've all enjoyed the beginning of this story! As always, I love to see your kudos and comments but no pressure - all I hope is that you had fun reading this.


	2. and wishing you were here tonight is like holding on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this turned out a lot longer than expected but I couldn't bring myself to cut anything...

**chapter 2: and wishing you were here tonight is like holding on**

Keith is due to leave on his eighteenth birthday and Shiro _knows_ Keith hates it, has gotten into multiple arguments with multiple of the higher ups over it. Rumour has it that he almost punched Iverson, though Keith’s been unusually tight-lipped about it. Shiro knows it shouldn’t please him but it does. It fills some part in Shiro’s heart that has gone without. Keith’s schedule has been hectic in the months leading up to Kerberos. There’s been little to no time for _them_ and Shiro misses Keith already.

“I should be able to stay _one extra day_ ,” Keith is grumbling, tone mutinous, as he sips his bourbon - the one from his father that he swore he’d open when Shiro turned eighteen (a milestone Shiro never thought he’d reach). “It wouldn’t kill them.” 

Shiro rolls his eyes. “Stop pouting. You’re not twelve.” 

Keith scowls at him. “I am _not_ pouting.”

“Whatever you say.” 

Shiro takes a swig of his beer (he's not a fan of the bourbon, much to Keith's dismay). They’re sitting on the small porch at Keith’s shack. It’s a week before Kerberos. The whole Garrison is _buzzing_ with anticipation. It’s like living in a bee’s hive. This venture out into the desert is a much needed break for both of them. 

“You should be excited.”

“I am,” Keith protests. “I just hate the showboating that comes beforehand. I’m - I’m not good at all this PR nonsense. I’m a _pilot_ , not a prize pony.” 

“You’re going farther than anyone’s ever been before.” Sometimes Shiro feels like the adult between the two of them. “What did you expect? A quiet exit?” 

There’s something brittle in his voice that he knows Keith will pick up on. He bites his lip to keep anything else from spilling out. He doesn’t want to ruin their last night out before Keith goes into the final leg of preparations. He’s not going to see him again until launch day. 

Keith just snorts though. “I’ve never known you to be so sarcastic, Hotshot. You’ve been hanging out with Adam too much.”

It’s true, he and Adam have gotten closer over the past couple of months. Keith hasn’t been around but Adam has. He’s the second person Shiro’s told about his disease. He’d sweated over telling him when his last episode was creeping up on him and when he had, Adam had surprised him - he’d been so understanding, so supportive. He’d researched ALS (Adam is a little like his mother in that regard) and now he knows the signs, what to do, how to help. It feels **good** not to have to hide from him. He’s working up the courage to tell Lance and Hunk. 

“You’re blushing,” Keith comments and his amusement is clear. 

His cheeks grow hotter. “It’s not like that. Adam is… just a friend.” 

Keith studies him for a moment then shrugs. “I like him.” And that’s a high compliment coming from Keith. “When I get back, we’ll hang out.” 

“I’d like that.” Shiro fiddles with the label on his bottle (according to Lance, this means he’s horny and he can’t even deny it). “Um, I told him about my disease.” 

“ _Oh_?” 

He’s _definitely_ blushing now. “Uh, yeah, he’s been really helpful, did research and everything.” 

“Sounds like more than a friend to me.” 

Shiro knocks his shoulder against Keith’s, who snickers into his drink. There’s a slight flush to Keith’s cheeks too, though this is likely from the alcohol. His hair is loose and messy around the collar of his t-shirt, aviators propped up on his head, holding back his bangs, leaving his exquisite face open and there’s something vulnerable in that, something Keith doesn’t allow anyone else to see. Shiro has managed to put Keith into the box of _big brother_ but he’s only human and Keith is _Keith_. And he’s sitting there with his pink cheeks, lips bitten red and wet from where he keeps licking at them, and skin a little gold from the sun. A saint would look, Shiro is sure, would look and would appreciate. 

“I can’t believe I leave in a week.”

The air between them turns somber. Both of them staring into the fire that snaps and crackles in the pit he and Keith had dug months back. Shiro’s mind fills with the what ifs he’s tried to keep at bay for months. The worst one, the one he’s been avoiding the most, is becoming harder to silence. It’s the one that whispers _you won’t be alive when he gets back_. He shoves the thought aside brutally.

“I’m scared, Takashi,” Keith murmurs. His voice is thick and he coughs to clear it. 

And Shiro can only nod. “Me too.” 

Keith inhales, deep and sharp, and straightens his shoulders, gearing up for whatever he’s going to say. Shiro braces himself. “I’m scared that when I get back, you won’t be here.” 

He almost laughs because of course Keith would just say it. He’s the bravest person Shiro knows. Keith faces everything head on. Nothing scares him into inaction.

“I just don’t know what I’d do if I got back and you weren’t here,” Keith continues. There’s a shake to his voice and when Shiro looks at him, there’s a definite shimmer to his eyes - and they look like galaxies in the firelight. “Kerberos would feel like a waste.”

Shiro hums in understanding. In his most selfish moments, he’s wished Keith would stay. But deep down he knows that Keith Kogane is meant for the stars. “I’ve thought the same,” he admits. If Keith can be brave so can he. “I want to go with you.” His own voice thickens. “More than anything, I want to go and see what’s out there.”

Keith doesn’t promise him he’s next. Keith never tells him things to placate him. Instead, he says, “I wish you could come too.” He swings an arm around Shiro’s shoulders (and Shiro’s tall enough now that he has to hunch a little to fit). “I’ll send pictures, videos. It won’t be the same but it’s something.”

“It’s closed communications,” Shiro reminds him but his lips have curved a little at the idea that Keith would, if he could, do just that. 

“Not for you. You’ll be linked to all the cameras on the _Persephone_. You’ll see what I see.”

It’s said so casually that it takes a moment for the words to hit. 

Keith has an unnerving habit of surprising him when he least expects it. So, woefully unprepared, Shiro chokes on all the feelings that come hurtling to the surface, hand lifting to cover his mouth before he can wreck everything with _I love you_. Because Keith is beaming at him, a full, wide curve of the lips that Shiro has only seen a handful of times.

“Happy birthday, Takashi,” he laughs and it’s infectious. 

Shiro throws his arms around him, crushing Keith to him. He buries his face in Keith’s neck, which is a little damp from the heat. He smells like dirt and sweat and smoke, _perfection_. Keith’s arms hold him no less fervently. 

“I’ll be able to talk to you?” 

Keith’s breathless chuckle is muffled against Shiro’s shoulder. “Yes, you idiot, but also you’ll be able to see what’s out there.”

He’s trembling despite the heat from the fire. Keith isn’t going to disappear from his life, seen only from afar in broadcasted updates on the TV. “I can’t believe I’ll be able to talk to you.”

“You’re really happy about that,” and Keith sounds bemused, as though he hadn’t expected Shiro to be more excited about that than about seeing space almost firsthand. 

Shiro pulls back to punch Keith lightly in the shoulder. “You changed my life, Kogane.” 

“ _You_ changed your life.” Keith’s reply is standard. It’s what he always says. 

“Sure sure,” Shiro agrees easily and he tosses back the last of his beer, welcomes how the bubbles go straight to his head, fizzing it. “Thank you, Keith. It means the world to me.” 

Keith knocks back his own drink. “Same, Takashi. Same.” 

***

Later that night, Keith is awake. He’s sitting up in bed, knees drawn to his chest, chin resting on them. Takashi’s sleeping next to him. His light snoring, a low, almost purr-like rumbling, is comforting in a visceral sense. Keith’s never been a good sleeper (a side effect of living in foster homes where falling asleep just meant you were easy prey) but with Takashi, he sleeps better than he ever has. Usually. Tonight is different. 

He’s leaving Earth soon, like he always dreamed. Yet he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to leave the boy next to him behind. Because despite what Takashi seems to think, Keith needs him just as much, if not more. This sullen teenager had catapulted himself into his life and dug himself a place in his heart, burrowed deep like a root. For the first time since his father died, Keith hadn’t been alone, and hasn’t been since. And to think, he almost didn't pick up the phone. 

_When the phone rings, Keith has just gotten out of the shower. He curses, hurrying into the main living area. It’s a Saturday night. If it’s the Garrison calling, he’s going to chew them out. He flat out debates not answering but then he spies the caller ID. It isn't a Garrison number. It’s a number he hasn’t heard from in two years, not since the funeral._

_“Kogane here,” he says when he answers._

_“Keith,” the calm voice of Kenji Shirogane greets him. Hiroshi’s son didn’t inherit his father’s love of the stars but their voices are almost identical. Something twists in Keith’s heart hearing it again. “I’m sorry to bother you.”_

_“It’s never a problem, Kenji,” he forces himself to say when all he wants to do is hit ‘end call.’ “What can I do for you?”_

_“It’s Takashi.” Ah, Hiroshi’s grandson. The one he could never stop talking about. Hiroshi had been convinced his grandson would follow in his footsteps. “He’s gone missing.”_

_Keith, who was in the process of scrubbing his towel through his hair, pauses. “What happened?”_

_“Takashi has been going through a hard time recently.” Kenji, although level-headed, is fiercely protective of his family. He’s also a little old-fashioned. So the fact that he’s even admitting this is enough cause for concern. “He’s taken his hoverbike. He’s gone to the desert.”_

_Keith doesn’t ask how Kenji knows where his son has gone - Hiroshi had always known where to look for him when he disappeared and Kenji is his father’s son in a lot of ways. He glances out the window at the storm that rages, all wind and lightning and claps of thunder loud enough to rattle the foundations of his shack._

_Keith grimaces and begins haphazardly throwing on clothes. That’s not a good thing to be stuck in. “I’ll find him.”_

_“Thank you, Keith.”_

(And though Keith still thinks that Kenji called him because he knows Keith grew up in the desert, that’s only part of the reason. He knows his father’s death had fractured two souls and Kenji is sure their broken pieces will fit together.)

It was the best decision Keith had ever made - to find Takashi Shirogane. It’s also the hardest thing for him now. He’s **leaving**. He’ll be gone for over a year. So much can happen in a year. Takashi’s disease could catch up with him (and he’s terrified it will). _He_ could die in space. 

This is the first time he’s ever felt a connection to Earth. He’s always felt he didn’t belong here, has always felt drawn to the stars and the endlessness of space. But that was before Takashi. Now he has something he never thought he’d have again after his father died. He has a _family_. Someone who’s going to be waiting for him. Someone who might die waiting for him.

And now going just feels selfish.

“Your thoughts are so loud I think they woke me.”

Keith’s head snaps in Takashi’s direction to find him blinking up at him, quicksilver eyes heavy with sleep. Keith runs a nervous hand through his hair. “Can’t help it.” 

Takashi rolls his eyes (an increasing habit of his). “Try harder.” Then he sighs and pushes himself up on his elbows. “Keith, you can’t live in what ifs. I know that better than most.” 

His voice is soft, cripplingly so, and Keith’s struck by how much Takashi has grown into himself. At seventeen, he’s more self-assured than Keith feels he’ll ever be. “You’re getting philosophical in your old age,” he teases.

Takashi pokes him in the ribs, making him squirm and glare. “You’re the old one,” Takashi smirks. 

“Punk.”

“I think that’s you.”

Keith shrugs. “Pretty sure Iverson would agree with you.” 

His expression must still be pitiful because Takashi flops back onto the bed and whines, “Keith, I can _feel_ you brooding.” 

“That’s because I’m going to miss you, Hotshot.” 

Takashi goes quiet beside him and Keith buries his face against his knees. He feels guilty, for waking him up, for bringing him down with his own maudlin thoughts. 

“I don’t want you to go.”

Keith jolts. “What?”

“I didn’t say before because it’s selfish but you -” and now Takashi looks unsure, “you seem like you’re doubting Kerberos because of _me._ And I get it.” He ducks his head and mumbles, “That’s all.” 

God, even if he’s grown up, he’s still unbearably young. 

Keith swallows, tries for light-heartedness - for the sake of both of them. “Is that your convoluted way of saying you’re going to miss me too?” 

“Don’t be a dick.” 

“It’s easier,” he admits. 

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Takashi points out, yawning. “Just know that I get it.”

And that helps. Keith feels like an idiot for not just spitting it out earlier. “Thanks.” 

Takashi settles back down and falls back asleep the moment his eyes close - an enviable talent. Keith shakes his head, chuckles fondly, swipes a hand through the black forelock falling over Takashi’s forehead, which he insists is cool. Takashi whuffs and nuzzles into the touch. He’s the most precious thing in Keith’s world. No one understands their relationship, except Shiro’s father (and Keith knows in his bones that Hiroshi would’ve too). 

_“He has a crush on you, Keith,” James hisses._

_They’re naked, lying in bed, sweat still cooling on their skin, chests not quite settled. Keith aches beautifully. The sex is great - it’s rough and heated and there’s a simmering anger underlying it that never fails to get his blood pumping and his dick throbbing. In the aftermath, there are bruises over his hips in the shape of James’ fingers and red lines down James’ back in the shape of his. It’s perfect. So, of course, James would ruin it by_ talking _._

_“We’re family,” is Keith’s disinterested response. He leans over and grabs his datapad off the side table, checking his emails._

_“Oh_ sure _,” James snaps, all sarcasm and teeth. “He looks at you like you’re_ his _.”_

_“I’m no one’s,” he comments, keeping his tone mild, glancing up at James over the edge of his datapad. He’s glaring, eyes navy blue and scalding hot. God, this used to be simple. “You’re complicating things.”_

_Scalding turns to boiling over. “You’re an arrogant asshole, Kogane. You know that?”_

_He turns his attention back to the article he’s reading. It’s something Takashi sent him on black holes and time distortion. “So I’ve been told.”_

_He doesn’t look up as James dresses and leaves, stomping off like a child throwing a tantrum. Keith knows he should end it. He and James aren’t good together unless they’re naked, and even that is becoming fraught with tension - not the good kind either. A message pops up on his datapad. From Takashi. It reads,_ Hoverbike racing? 

_His grin is wolfish. As always, Takashi knows just what he needs._

“You always know just what I need,” he whispers now as he settles down to sleep. 

***

Launch day is a spectacle in the worst sense of the word. Keith is paraded in front of the brass and the sponsors, forced to smile and pose for pictures. He was asked to _sign an autograph_. He’s still dealing with that harrowing experience when Katie Holt sidles up to him and nails him in the ribs with her elbow. 

“You look like you’re about to murder the next person who talks to you.”

“And yet here you are,” he mutters, rubbing at his now sore ribs - her elbows are _sharp_.

“You’re not as scary as you think you are, Cowboy.” 

He scowls. “You’re annoying.” 

“Drama queen.” 

He pinches the bridge of his nose and wills himself _not_ to punch her in the face. He likes her. It’s just the day - he’s on edge. “What do you want, Katie?” 

“Where’s your shadow?” 

“He’s not my shadow,” Keith snaps. The headache forming behind his right eye throbs. “He wasn’t invited but I’ll see him later at the launch.” 

“Pity,” Katie chirps but there’s an evil glint in her hazel eyes he doesn’t trust. “I wanted to watch him moon over you.” 

His fists clench. What is it with the people in his life and thinking Takashi has a crush on him? “Stop. He’s like my brother.”

“And yet, he wants to fuck you. Not very brotherly of him.”

Keith chokes on air. “What?” he wheezes out as Katie thumps him on the back with surprising force for someone so small. 

Takashi doesn’t want to _fuck_ him. God, he’s a _kid_. Even as he thinks that though, he remembers being seventeen and being horny all the time. His cheeks heat as an unbidden thought of Takashi, naked and hard and above him, damns him.

“I have a brother and we don’t share beds anymore,” Katie observes. “Just saying.”

“There’s only one bed at the shack,” he rasps, regretting ever inviting her there. “It’s not weird.” Katie just tuts at him, pushing her glasses back up her nose as she peers up at him. “He’s _seventeen_ , Katie.” 

It’s his last line of defense. 

“Isn’t it his birthday today?”

He holds up a hand. “Stop. Just stop.” He feels dizzy. God, what the fuck? “Please,” he begs. 

Katie lays a hand on his bicep. “Don’t go with regrets, Keith. You don’t know what’s going to happen.” 

“The only regret I have is this conversation.” 

Katie sniggers at him and wanders off, leaving him reeling, trying to recover from a blow _he never saw coming_. And now he’s horny, sporting half a hard on at an official event for Christ’s sake. And he can’t even message Griffin. They are decidedly **not** on speaking terms and there’s isn’t time even if they were. 

Christ.

***

When Takashi finds him later, Keith is still flushed and it worsens when Takashi sidles up to him. His eyes catch on the way his cadet uniform pulls across his broad chest. What has Katie done? 

“You’re looking a little worse for wear there, Cap,” Takashi teases. 

“Uh,” is his intelligent response. 

Takashi’s brows raise. “Are you alright?” 

Keith blinks once twice and forces a smile onto his face. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine. Just a little overwhelmed. It’s been a long morning.”

“Yeah, I saw all the pictures,” Takashi snickers. Keith forgets he’s friends with Lance, who is an avid photographer and was asked to help document the farewell brunch. “You looked _murderous_.” 

Keith whacks Takashi over the back of the head. “Shut up, brat.” He relaxes a little when Takashi ducks out the way, grumbling about his hair. A wave of fondness sweeps through him. “Stop fussing. You look good.” 

Takashi goes bright red, like a stop sign, and sputters out, “Uh, yeah, t-thanks, Keith.” 

And has Takashi always blushed like that when he compliments him? Katie’s words, like a Disney song, are stuck in his head - _he wants to fuck you_. 

A stern voice interrupts his thoughts. “That’s Lieutenant Kogane to you, Cadet Shirogane.” 

And just like that, the blood drains from Takashi’s face. He whirls around and snaps a sharp salute. “Yes, Admiral Sanda, ma’am. My apologies.” 

Sanda frowns disapprovingly (but she does everything _disapprovingly_ ). Keith steps forward and lays a hand on Takashi’s shoulder - and since when was Takashi taller than him? “No harm done, Admiral. Cadet Shirogane is family.”

“This is an official event, Lieutenant Kogane, and I expect a certain level of decorum to be maintained. Am I understood?” 

He offers her a lazy salute, knowing it’ll annoy her. “Yes, ma’am.”

Beneath his hand, Takashi tenses. 

The lines around Sanda’s eyes deepen as she frowns but before she can say anything, Sam swoops in to rescue them. “Are you almost ready for departure, Lieutenant?” 

“Yes, sir,” Keith replies, dropping his hand from Takashi’s shoulder. He likes Sam a lot. “Just one more goodbye to say.” 

“Excellent. Admiral Sanda, could I have a word with you? It’s about the launch.”

He sounds the right level of apologetic and deferent but there’s an unmistakable twinkle to his eyes. Sanda doesn’t pick up on it and Keith likes him even more for it. She does somehow manage to stiffen her back further. “Of course, Commander Holt.” 

Keith grins at Sam’s back and then turns to Takashi. Takashi whose expression has crumpled, whose eyes look damp, whose hands are fisted at his side. Keith secures a hand to the back of his head and pulls him in, fixing Takashi’s face into the crook of his neck. He exhales shakily, and attaches himself to Keith like a barnacle.

“One year,” he murmurs into dark hair, squeezes Takashi just as tightly. “One year. You’ll be a junior officer when I get back.”

They both need the lie that Takashi will be alive in a year. 

“One year,” comes the muffled answer. 

Takashi pulls away and suddenly Keith’s very close to quicksilver eyes and a face he loves more dearly than anything. Keith rests his forehead against Takashi’s. “Check in anytime.”

“I will,” Takashi sniffles. 

They embrace one more time then part. Keith turns on his heel and walks off. When he gets to the ramp, he looks back over his shoulder, sees Takashi still standing there, hands clasped in front of him, eyes wet, and he does the only thing he can think of.

He winks at him, raises one hand.

“See you later, Hotshot.” 

Takashi rolls his eyes, smile trembling, and flips him off. Keith throws his head back and laughs.

***

The first five and a half months (the length of time it takes Keith and his team to reach Kerberos) go surprisingly well. He misses Keith being here but he talks to him often enough, watches the video feed Katie linked him to and marvels over the nebulae and the patchworks of stars and just the _enormousness_ of space. It lessens the sting to see it, almost like he’s there, like he made it. He lies in bed most nights just watching. Keith keeps him company as often as he can, but his hours are hard to keep track of. 

Tonight though, he isn’t watching. Tonight, Adam is curved against his back, skin to skin, and his datapad is quiet. They’ve been together almost three months now. And it’s been both less and more. **Less** in that there isn’t that blood rush he’d been expecting, that overpowering, overtaking _need_ \- in their bed and out of it. **More** in that he’s falling in love, and it’s adoring and reverent, rose petals against calloused fingertips. Adam is good for him and he loves Shiro, has told him so. 

“I love you too,” he whispers into the dark to try out the words. 

Adam shifts behind him, fingers flexing over his hip. “Hmmm, Shiro?” he mumbles. “Did you say something?” 

His throat closes. He can’t get the words out again. Keith’s face, his body, his voice, his _everything_ , runs a loop through his head. “No,” he manages. 

Unaware, Adam shuffles closer, presses a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Mmm, ‘kay.”

And Shiro curses his cowardice. He loves Adam and he needs to tell him. Keith is his _brother_ ; Adam is the boy he loves. 

_“Is he, Takashi-kun?”_ his grandfather’s voice asks in his head. 

  
  


***

Keith sets the ship on autopilot, chest heaving. Despite the coolness of the air, he’s sweating, adrenaline coursing through his veins. The flight path to Kerberos had been meticulously plotted by the Garrison Communication and Logistics team (made up of scientists and retired pilots - one of whom had flown almost this exact course over two decades ago when man had made it to Triton). Apparently, they had missed a _goddamn_ asteroid belt in their plotting. One he had just flown through blind. Central command was going to hear from him if Pidge ever managed to get their comms fixed. 

“I knew you were the right pilot for this mission.”

He throws a tired smile in Sam’s direction. Though he’s a scientist first and foremost, he’s also a pilot and he'd been instrumental in helping Keith navigate. “You too.” 

Sam chuckles and adjusts his glasses. His face is open, friendly even, but he’s angry and Keith can’t blame him. Negligence almost cost them their lives. If Keith weren’t bone tired under the dazed high of adrenaline, he’s sure steam would be coming out of his ears. 

Sam slaps his hands over his thighs then stands. “I’m going to help Katie get those comms up and running. I’d like to have a word with Sanda sooner rather than later.”

Keith almost feels sorry for Sanda. He nods. “Go ahead, Doc. I’m going to keep an eye on everything here for a while. We don’t want any more surprises.” 

“Quite.” 

The door to the rest of the ship (consisting of communal sleeping quarters, a small living area, and a lab) opens and Keith can hear Pidge’s cursing. That doesn’t give him much hope. Fuck, he hopes they get it working soon. He hasn’t spoken to Takashi in a couple days and even that had been stilted due to the connection. It’s the first time in the just over four months he’s been gone that Keith’s felt the physical distance between them. 

God, he hopes Takashi doesn't find out. 

A little while later Pidge (a nickname he picked up on after overhearing her little brother teasing her one night; one he knows she secretly enjoys) comes stomping in, face like a storm cloud. Keith glances up from where he’d been updating their path to Kerberos. His heart sinks. 

“You didn’t manage to fix them,” he guesses. 

“Comms are going to be out about forty-eight hours,” she snarls. And it’s both adorable and _terrifying_. He understands. It’s Matt’s birthday today and her and Sam were planning on video calling him. “We need to do a complete system reboot.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” she snaps. “In fact, I’m pretty sure we owe you our lives.” She punches his shoulder and sneers when he winces, but there’s no real nastiness behind it. “Nice flying, Cowboy.” 

***

Shiro isn’t told that communication has been lost with the _Persephone_ but Lance hears about it through the grapevine (he’s connected, is his boast) and comes to find him in the library. 

“Hey Shiro, can I speak to you?” 

Shiro arches a brow. Lance is shuffling his feet, hands wringing together. That’s… unusual. Lance is usually a beacon of overconfident buffoonery. “What’s up?”

“Um, in private.”

Trying not to think about the exam he’s taking the next day (in fucking alien botany too), Shiro gathers his books and follows Lance into an empty classroom. “What’s going on, Lance? Did Audrey reject you _again_? I’ve told you not -”

“They lost communication with the _Persephone_ ,” Lance blurts out, interrupting him. 

And the floor feels like it falls out from under him. Hands grip his upper arms and shake him. Someone’s saying his name but it sounds like he’s underwater. He _feels_ like he's drowning. Keith might be dead.

“I have to talk to Iverson,” he rasps, interrupting whatever garble Lance is spitting out. 

He shrugs Lance off and spins on his heel. Iverson’s office isn’t far, which is good because he’s holding himself together by a thread. He refuses to fall apart until he _knows_ what happened. He takes a deep breath, steels himself, and presses the intercom. 

“Yes?” Iverson barks through the comm. 

“It’s Cadet Shirogane, sir. Could I have a moment of your time?” 

He sounds frighteningly normal. 

There’s a brief pause. “Come in.”

Iverson is sitting at his desk and he looks harassed. The top button of his uniform is undone and there are dark circles under his eyes. Shiro has never seen Iverson look anything less than military perfect and his fragile grip on stability wavers.

“What can I do for you, Cadet Shirogane?”

“Sir, I heard something happened with the Kerberos mission.”

Iverson sighs. “Do people have nothing better to do than gossip?” He runs a hand over his head. “There’s not much I can tell you but, from what we understand, the crew is alive.” 

“Keith’s alive?” he asks.

The frown lines between Iverson’s eyebrows deepen. “From what we _understand_. I can’t guarantee anything yet.”

“Can I ask what happened, sir?”

Iverson _glowers_. “No, Cadet, you may not. That information is classified.”

Usually, Shiro would cower away from causing trouble. Unlike Keith, he’s not a natural rebel. He follows the rules to a tee ( _Golden Boy_ is what some of his envious classmates whisper behind his back), is a model student. But there’s limits to how far he’ll bend for the brass and Keith is his line.

“Tell me what happened to Keith.” 

The vein above Iverson’s right eye jumps out. “Cadet Shirogane, you have an exemplary record so I’m going to ignore this moment of insubordination. I understand you’re close to _Lieutenant Kogane_ but there's nothing more I can tell you right now.” 

Shiro wants to scream, wants to _fight_ , as he leaves Iverson’s office. He’s not a violent individual but Keith brings out the strongest emotions in him. As he storms away, someone catches him by the arm. He swings around and stops short. 

It’s Lance. 

“You’re coming with me.” Lance gives his arm a tug. When Shiro resists, steel enters Lance’s expression. “You’re not going to go stomping around the Garrison looking like you’re about to _destroy_ the next person who talks to you. You might not care right now but you will later.” 

Shiro knows Lance is right and so reluctantly lets himself get dragged into the dorm room Lance shares with Hunk. Hunk’s in there, watching something on his laptop, illegal popcorn sitting on his lap, even though it’s the middle of the day and he should be studying (he has the same exam as Shiro tomorrow). When they enter, Hunk attempts to shove the popcorn under his pillow. Instead, he sends it skittering across the bed and onto the floor. He flounders forward to try save some of it and almost sends his laptop careening onto the floor as well. In _any_ other moment, Shiro would laugh and help his friend but not now. 

“Smooth, Hunk,” Lance snarks. 

Hunk doesn’t even react to Lance. His attention is focused on Shiro. “Shiro, dude, what’s going on?”

“Communication was lost with the Kerberos mission,” is Lance’s explanation as he flops onto Hunk’s bed, picking up a piece of popcorn from the bedding and popping it into his mouth. “Shiro, sit. I know you’re worried about Keith but you’re going to give yourself wrinkles scowling like that.” 

“I don’t care about wrinkles, Lance!” he yells unbidden. “Keith could be _dead_!” 

Hunk shoots Lance a look (his _you have the emotional range of a blowfly so let me handle this_ look). “Ignore him, Shiro. You feel however you gotta. We’re here for you, buddy.” 

Lance apparently does have enough emotional intelligence to look chagrined. “Sorry, man. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not good at this but I thought, maybe, watching a movie and eating some junk food would, I dunno, help take your mind off things.” 

He reaches over into the side drawer and brings out chocolate (Shiro’s _favourite_ ), holding it out. It’s a peace offering. An offering of friendship and not having to talk about it, of not having to be alone right now. Adam is off base on a survival training course until next week - and both Lance and Hunk know this or they would’ve called him. Shiro’s shoulders slump. The red-hazed fury is receding. He crawls onto the bed in between Lance and Hunk, leaning against the wall, and takes a bite out of the chocolate. 

“You want to watch _Star Wars_ , bud?” Hunk asks. 

It’s his favourite movie series. A fact that he’s told Hunk _once_ before. But Hunk remembers these kinds of things. “Yeah,” he mumbles around a mouthful of chocolate. He swallows. “Sorry about earlier.” 

“Don’t sweat it, man,” Lance reassures. “We get it. You and Lieutenant Kogane are tight.”

Later, after Lance and Hunk have passed out from a food coma (and he's not far behind), Shiro is much calmer. His last thought before he falls asleep is that he’s glad he doesn’t have to be alone. 

And when Lance runs up to him during lunchtime the next day to say that the _Persephone_ had made contact, he smiles. Lance didn’t have to tell him though. Shiro had woken up to a single message on his datapad from Keith, in response to his hundreds. 

**You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Hotshot. Call tonight?**

Everything’s going to be fine. 

***

Landing on Kerberos is both the most exciting thing Keith’s ever done and also supremely underwhelming. Kerberos is all ice and grey rock and an atmosphere-less sky. There’s the thrill of standing where no human has gone before but it wears off in the unearthly freezing temperatures that allow them to be outside the spaceship for only twenty minutes at a time, even in their carefully constructed spacesuits. Pidge and Sam croon over ice samples and Keith rolls his eyes (something he’s picked up from Takashi) but humours them.

“Come on, Cowboy,” Pidge teases. “You could be looking at _alien life_ outside Earth.”

“ _Riveting_ ,” he taunts but it’s all good-natured. He’s happy for her. 

Same shakes his head at their antics, focused on the column of ice they’re in the middle of extracting. So yes, it’s underwhelming in the sense that he’s extracting ice from an _ice_ moon and hoping there’s microscopic evidence of life outside their planet embedded in it - he wouldn’t be surprised (he’s a firm believer that humans aren’t the only beings in the universe).

When the Galra ship appears, looming over the horizon like the three-headed dog the moon they’re on gets its name from, Keith is sure they’re in Tartarus. And deep in his bones, he knows whoever is in that ship isn’t looking to make friends, isn’t peaceful. Under his skin, his blood is hissing and his gums _ache_. If he had hackles, they would be raised. 

“Get behind me,” he growls as their ship is ripped apart in some sort of traction beam. It’s heading for them and there’s no avoiding it. 

“Um, I think we should run!” Pidge yells. 

Keith’s feet remain rooted to the floor. “There’s no outrunning that.”

Pidge’s gulp is audible over the comms. “What do we do, Dad?” 

Sam’s face is pale but he reaches for his daughter’s hand, clasps it, tugs her behind Keith. “I don’t know, kiddo.” 

It does nothing to help them. Keith can’t protect them against the full force of the traction beam but he tries and for a _moment_ , a split second, it works. Pidge and Sam both gasp. Then Keith’s crumples like a paper bag. Magenta light envelops them. His final thought before he’s pulled under is _Takashi_. 

_Thank God Takashi isn't here._

***

This time he’s called into Iverson’s office. Iverson is sitting at his desk, much like last time, but this time his uniform is pristine. He looks bone tired though and there’s something like grief in his eyes. 

“Sit, Cadet Shirogane.”

He doesn’t sit. He’s too on edge. “What’s going on?”

Iverson ignores his insubordination. “The Kerberos mission has been declared lost. We lost communication almost twenty-four hours ago and there’s been nothing since, not even static.” He holds up a hand before Shiro can say anything. “The ship is _gone_ , son, and with it, its crew.”

Shiro collapses into the chair, looks down as his vision blurs, fists clenching against his thigh. _Keith._ He’d spoken to him just over a day ago. He’d just landed on Kerberos and his cheeks had been flushed with the thrill of it all, eyes brighter than the sun. He’d been so beautiful and Shiro had _ached_ to tell him. Now he never will. 

“What happened?”

“Pilot error.” 

His head snaps up. “ _What?_ ”

Iverson, to his credit, doesn’t falter. “The ship is gone. The mission has been declared lost due to pilot error.” And that little smidge of grief leaks back into his expression. “I’m sorry, son. I’ve placed you on administrative leave for a week.”

A week to grieve the loss of the person he loves most in this world. A week is all he gets before he’s going to be expected to carry on, on the path _Keith_ set him on. It's all wrong. He was meant to be the one who died, not Keith. 

“What happened to the ship?” he rasps out.

And then Iverson tells a bald faced lie. “A complication during landing.”

 **What.** Shiro is abruptly _seething_ , incandescently so. He leaps up, knocking his chair to the ground. “That’s a _lie_ ,” he grounds out. “The Kerberos mission _landed_.” 

“I’m not sure where you got that idea from, Cadet, but I can assure you, it _did not_.” 

“Tell me what _really_ happened.” And in the next second grief threatens to crush him - he’s Atlas, forced to hold up the weight of the word and his knees are _buckling_. “Please,” he quakes. “Please.”

Iverson knits his fingers together atop the table. His expression doesn’t soften in the slightest. “Cadet Shirogane, I understand that this is hard to accept. Please take the time you need. If you need more, the Garrison is happy to accommodate.”

It’s a dismissal. He’s being _dismissed._

“You have enormous potential to do good, to do _better_ than even Kogane,” Iverson continues when Shiro doesn’t move. “Don’t let this ruin that. I’m sure the lieutenant wouldn’t want that.” 

No, Keith wouldn’t want that.

But that doesn't change the fact that Iverson is _lying_. He _saw_ Kerberos almost firsthand, knows the crew landed safely. But he knows Iverson won't tell him anything. 

“Thank you, Commander Iverson.”

Iverson nods. “Take your week and heal. I think you’ll find there’s a promotion in your future, son.” 

They want to replace Keith with _him_. Bile rises in his throat. Shiro leaves and goes to his room to pack. His parents will be here in an hour to collect him, Iverson told him. 

“Shiro?” 

Adam. He hadn’t even heard the door opening. But hearing Adam’s voice, it’s his breaking point. He drops to his knees, clutching Keith’s _stupid_ red leather jacket to his chest. The one he’d given Shiro for safe keeping.

Adam wraps himself around Shiro, a comforting weight that’s just a tad too light to be who Shiro _needs_ (despite how lithe Keith was, he was _heavy_ ). “I know, babe. I know and I’m here.”

Shiro clings to Adam, breathes in his comforting scent (lavender and a hint of sweat) and wishes desperately that he was smelling dirt and smoke instead. “I don’t know what to do without him.” 

“You made it through these past months,” Adam reminds him. 

“They’re blaming it on him. _Pilot_ error,” he spits out those two hateful words. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” and there’s a warning in Adam’s voice but also crippling understanding. “I know it’s hard but Keith wasn’t perfect. No one is.” 

“They’re saying it was a landing error.” 

Adam stills, hand frozen where he’d been rubbing soothing circles onto his heaving back. Adam is the only other person who Shiro told that the _Persephone_ landed. “Shiro, whatever you’re thinking, stop. It’s not worth it. Keith is dead and he wouldn’t want you to ruin your future for him.” 

He sounds like Iverson, Shiro thinks. The rational part of Shiro’s brain understands their point. Iverson is protecting the Garrison but Adam is protecting Shiro. So when Adam presses a kiss to his cheek, holding the car door open, Shiro promises to check in regularly and even manages a half smile for his boyfriend. 

Halfway home, a hand lands on his shoulder, grounds him (and for once he doesn’t resent it). “Never forget to fight,” and it’s said in his grandfather’s voice. 

And all Shiro can think is _Why?_ There’s nothing left to fight for. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed the second chapter! 
> 
> It's going to get worse before it gets better... I'm sorry but there are happy endings at the end of this (I'm not a monster). <3


	3. crack and break and part ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter covers the aftermath of the Kerberos mission. You know what you're signing up for.

**chapter 3: crack and break and part ways**

Keith claws through his soup thick brain into consciousness. The first thing he’s made aware of is the metal cuffs on his wrists and ankles that bind him to the metal table he's lying on. He frowns, confused, then winces as his splitting headache makes itself known. 

Where is he? 

God, even thoughts _hurt_.

He struggles through memories but they slip away like wet soap. He forces his eyes open, let’s out a weak hiss when the fluorescent lights of wherever he is blind him. When his eyes acclimatise to the assault, he’s mesmerised by the small air particles swirling through the air, dancing in time with each harsh, _wet_ breath he takes. 

_Get out of there, Keith_. And it’s Takashi’s voice. Keith’s response is a high-pitched whine he’s never made before. His limbs feel like cement as he twists half-heartedly against his restraints. But Takashi is insistent (God, he’s always been stubborn). _Keith, you have to go. What about the Holts?_

Pidge and Sam. 

It all comes back and the force of it punches the air from his lungs - it’s a disgusting, glugging noise (and he knows there’s fluid where there shouldn’t be). He has to find Pidge and Sam before whoever it is that took them can hurt them, or hurt them **more.**

It’s an instinct, something deep and protective and consuming, something written into his DNA, and it drives him, a calling he can’t ignore, tinnitus ringing in his ears until he wants to scream. It’s almost too easy to break the restraints after that. They tear apart like cotton candy. Keith pulls the IV out of his left arm where some sort of glowing gold liquid was being drained into him. His skin is amethyst around the entry wound and he’s not as disturbed by it as he should be (something about it is almost _comforting?_ Something buried in his unconscious that he doesn’t have the time to dig out right now). He’ll worry about it later. Right now, he needs to find Pidge and Sam. 

He needs to find them and get back to Earth. Takashi is waiting for him, and he can’t wait forever. 

The door opens when he presses his hand to the scanner and he stumbles out into a corridor (and purple seems to be a running theme in this place: purple metal walls and floors, purple lights, purple skin). It doesn’t take him long to run into trouble. He’s not stealthy. His body is uncooperative and there’s a vague burning in his limbs, like he’s in the middle of a growth spurt. His vision is too focused, though it helps that everything is in one colour. 

There’s the smallest schick and he realises too late that it’s the sound of a door opening. A tall alien steps out, with skin like a dolphin’s and night eyes like a cat. It’s ears, long and smooth, flick in his direction. Its lips pull back, revealing fanged teeth.

Oh _fuck_. 

Keith has never been someone to overthink a situation. He’s a doer, not a thinker. And so he does. With strength unbeknownst to him, he launches himself **five metres** through the air, slamming into this creature, almost two times his size. It crumples against the now dented wall, unconscious. Keith rams its head into the wall, leaving a black blood-like stain, for good measure. A gun, something too large and far beyond any guns he’s seen, lies on the floor and Keith picks up gingerly. It _seems_ to work like a normal gun. The trigger appears to be in the normal place, though it doesn’t have a barrel like a gun.

It fires some kind of magenta plasma laser (he doesn’t know exactly). Keith finds this out when he rounds the next corner and runs straight into a patrol. He takes them out but one of their lasers catches him on his side. It’s deep. The sickly smell of burning flesh and iron make his head spin. The smell is so _intense_. 

**Fuck.**

He staggers forward, almost trips over one of the sentry’s arms, and he’s somewhat aware that an alarm is blaring but all he can focus on is the smell of his wound. It coats his nose, his tongue, clouds his already fluid-filled lungs. He coughs and there’s more blood on his hand.

**Fuck.**

He doesn’t notice the alien (one with purple fur but just as big as the last one) until it’s on him and then he _fights_ how he learned when he was small and scrappy and all his opponents were bigger and stronger. It’s all clawing nails and snapping teeth (and alien blood tastes like mud). Something hot presses against his face, searing at his skin, and he _howls._ Pain erupts in his mouth and his fingers. He’s crushed into the unforgiving metal floor, hacks up more blood from his poor, beleaguered lungs. 

“Give it up, half-breed,” the alien demands, a smug sneer on its face. 

A large hand wraps around his throat, cuts off his air. 

**Fuck.**

***

“Takashi, you need to eat,” Maya cajoles. His sister is almost thirteen-years older than him and it always puts his back up when she parents him.

“I’m not hungry.” 

She clicks her tongue. “I don’t care.”

Shiro puts down the textbook he’d been reading and eyes Maya, lips curling in disdain. “Go parent your own kid, _onee-sama._ ” 

Her eyes narrow and she fists her hands on her hips. “Don’t _onee-sama_ me, brat.” 

And Shiro hears: _Shut up, brat. Stop fussing. You look good._ His heart clenches.

“Go bother someone else.” 

Maya throws her hands in the air. “I told Mom this was a bad idea.” 

“The worst,” he agrees. “Now could you go? I need to finish this chapter before bed.” 

“Your best friend died in some freak space accident.” Remarkably, Maya has less tact than even Lance. “And all you’ve done in the week since is _study_.” 

His grip tightens, fingers creasing the pages of his book. “Crying about it won’t bring him back,” he explains stonily. “Keith believed in me. I’m going to honour that by being the _best_.” 

The electrostimulation bracelet on his wrist beeps. Maya’s expression sours further and she turns to leave. “No, you’re going to honour that by joining him in an early grave.”

“I always had an early grave, Maya,” he reminds her. 

Maya pauses by his bedroom door. “I guess I just didn’t think you’d be so eager to dig it yourself. Keith’s not here anymore but we are.”

Are you? he wonders. Tomorrow Maya will get on her flight, will go back to Tokyo where her perfect job, perfect husband, perfect daughter, wait for her. She has a _future_ stretching - birthdays, Christmases, watching her daughter walk down the aisle in her wedding dress, grandkids. She has time to become the best surgeon in Japan, in the world if she chooses. All Shiro has is a moment and no Keith.

_Never forget to fight._

***

The second time Keith wakes up, he’s ripped into consciousness. There’s electricity in his veins and all he needs is for it to **get out**. An inhuman screech tears from his throat. On the inhale, his lungs are suspiciously clear of any fluid but he can feel every stretch as they inflate and deflate, and he wants to throw up against the feeling of his blood streaming through his veins, thick and fast. 

“You’re awake, little one. Good.”

He jolts at the unfamiliar, female voice. Its owner is a woman (at least that’s what he’s assuming) standing in an open doorway. She’s wearing a purple robe that conceals her face but for pruned, pursed lips and eyes that glow yellow. She wafts forwards and her lips stretch over her teeth in some imitation of a smile.

“Your affinity for quintessence is quite unusual, even in the Galra.” And he doesn’t understand a word of what she’s saying. “Your companions didn’t have this reaction so I have to wonder what makes you special.”

“Where are they?” he rasps out. “What have you done with them?”

“Dead. They had no use.”

Several things happen at once. The blood vessels in his eyes pop and the world jumps into hyperfocus. A needle-point tooth cuts through his bottom lip and blood fills his mouth. Lines burn down his cheeks, his neck, his shoulder blades to the small of his back. 

He feels each cell exploding like a supernova.

And his head becomes a black hole.

“No!” he roars and begins to thrash, metal cuffs creaking as he strains against them. He wants to _devour_ , to _feast_. 

The woman (the witch) takes a step back but grins, seemingly pleased. “Increase his quintessence infusion.” 

Another alien, dressed in similar robes with an oblong white mask covering their face, moves closer. “Yes, High Priestess.” 

She hums to herself. “Let’s see how much he can take before he breaks.”

***

Arriving back at the Garrison is a relief. Shiro missed the structure whilst he was home. Here no one walks on eggshells around him. They all have better things to do. Here, at least, the world has moved on. There’ll be a funeral later in the week, of course, with empty caskets and even emptier words. Shiro won’t attend. 

Adam isn’t speaking to him because of it, which is difficult considering they’re roommates and they’re dating. 

Lance doesn’t get the memo, which is Shiro’s own fault because he’s been avoiding his friends since he found out about Kerberos. So Lance knocks on Shiro’s door the day of the funeral and doesn’t wait for Shiro to reply before opening it (he regrets putting Lance’s fingerprint in his door code) and stepping in, hair slicked back and uniform impeccable in a way Lance’s _never_ is. 

“You look like such a good little cadet,” he teases. 

“Says the Golden Boy,” Lance retorts. He gives Shiro, who is in socks, sweats and an old NASA t-shirt, a once over. “Uh, buddy, I appreciate the retro look but the funeral starts in less than an hour. We need to leave pronto if we want a good seat. Hunk can’t hold our places forever.”

Shiro tenses. Of course Lance would come to get him. “I’m not going.”

Lance just sighs. “Listen, man, I know it’s been hard and that you’re using classwork to distract yourself -”

“Come up with that on your own?” Shiro can’t help but goad Lance. He always rises to the occasion. 

But not this time. “Hunk and I were chatting about it. We’re worried about you,” is his explanation. It should warm him that his friends are concerned about it. Instead, it irritates. 

“I’m _fine.”_

“No, you’re really not.” He holds up a hand before Shiro can protest. “Adam came and spoke to us. You’ve barely been sleeping, Shiro.”

“ _Adam_ doesn’t know everything.”

“I know, I know,” he placates. “You’re a strong, independent man who don’t need nobody.” God, Lance is infuriating sometimes. “I _get_ it, but right now, let us be there for you.”

Shiro turns pointedly back to his datapad. “Thanks for dropping by, Lance. I appreciate it.”

One of the things that makes Lance so infuriating is that he **doesn’t know when to stop**. “Shiro, I know this is hard on you and that you -” he waves a hand in the air “- want to handle it _your_ way. I respect that but I also know you. You’ll regret not saying goodbye.” 

“I said goodbye, Lance, when Keith left. I don’t see the point in saying it again.”

“Shiro -”

“ **Stop** ,” he barks. “Everyone keeps telling me what I _need_ to do when all I _need_ is to focus on what matters, and that’s becoming the best pilot the Garrison has ever seen.”

Hurt flashes across Lance’s face that he tries to disguise by sneering, arms folding across his chest. “You know, you once told me that Keith was your _family_. Family shows up, Shiro.”

Lance leaves without another word and Shiro lets him go, seething. Once Lance is out of earshot, he hurls his datapad, ignoring how it snaps against the wall, and curls his knees up to his chest. How dare he. Lance knows _nothing_ about what was between him and Keith. _Keith_ , of all people, would understand his decision. Keith would’ve detested the spectacle the Garrison has made of him. They threw his name in the dirt and now have the _gall_ to talk about him as if they knew him. 

But he also remembers how his _Only my family calls me Takashi._

Turned into Keith's _You’re my family._

He’d just rather forget. 

***

It’s soft and warm, and Keith’s instantly suspicious. The last couple of times he’s woken it’s been to pain and to the witch, hovering over him with her yellow eyes and red-marked face. Haggar, he’s learned her name is. But she’s absent this time. He sits up, cautious, and inhales sharply as he takes in his surroundings.

He’s back on Earth, on his bed in his shack. But it looks _newer_ , cleaner, more lived in. There’s no open bourbon bottle on the side table. The ratty knit blanket he’d salvaged from a garage sale is replaced with a downy comforter. _Get out of there._ Swinging his legs over the edge, he stands and edges towards the open door. There’s a crash from the living room and he freezes.

“Damn it all,” a twanged voice from his past, one he can hardly even remember, curses. “For the love of God.” 

It can’t be. 

He tears open the door and, standing there in a foolish pink apron with red hearts and a mess of pots at his feet, is his father. Keith’s brain crashes, reboots, and all he manages to choke out is, “D-dad?” 

Jack Kogane looks up and gives him a lopsided grin. “Hey there, Sparks. Did I wake you? Sorry, kiddo.” 

And he remembers being eight-years old and making carbonara, waiting for his dad to come home from a long shift at the fire station. He swallows. His heart swells and his chest aches from the pressure put on it. “You know you shouldn’t cook, Dad.” 

Jack chuckles, running a hand over his face. “You looked so tired. I couldn’t wake you.”

This isn’t real. Keith knows this. His father is **dead.** He’d been to the funeral, had watched them lower Jack Kogane into the ground and wax poetic about what a hero he was. 

_Get out of there, Keith._

Keith grabs a chopping knife from the counter and bares his teeth. “What is this?” 

His father tilts his head, eyes the knife, but doesn’t react much more than that. Jack Kogane always was unflappable. “You okay there, kiddo?” 

“ **Who are you?** ” he snarls. 

“I’m your dad.” Jack sets down the pot he’d picked up on the scarred kitchen table, raising his hands. “Put the knife down, Sparks. You’re safe here. You’re home.” 

Keith’s laughter is hollow and his grip on the knife tightens. “You raised me to be smart and strong and not take shit from anyone.”

His father opens his mouth but doesn’t get another word out as Keith shoves the knife through his chest. Blood hits his face and it tastes _wrong_ \- like mud. 

***

He strangles Pidge next, snaps her thin neck like a twig.

Then he rips Sam’s heart out. 

At night (or what passes for it aboard the Galra ship), he curls into foetal position in a corner in his cell and **sobs** himself into fitful slumber. 

  
  


***

A year. Keith had been gone a year. 

And Shiro couldn’t remember the last time he’d thought about him. He only thinks of him today because there's a memorial service at the Garrison. It’s going to be televised. Colleen Holt is speaking. It’s mandatory attendance for all Garrison personnel but Shiro doesn’t think Iverson will hold it against him.

So instead he stands in front of the small granite gravestone. It bears Keith’s name and date of birth and death. Nothing else. There’s a small, wriggling worm of guilt in his chest. 

“I thought I’d find you out here.” 

Shiro stiffens. “Lieutenant Griffin.” 

James stops next to him. “You didn’t come to the funeral.” Shiro says nothing. He owes James _nothing_. “I don’t think he’d have cared. Though I suppose you knew that already.”

“I did actually know him,” Shiro spits out. 

But James isn’t Lance and he’s too smart to rise to such obvious bait. Instead, he shrugs. “I know. I used to hate that but it just doesn’t seem important anymore.” James reaches into his pocket and pulls out a set of dog tags. “I think these belong to you more than me.”

James drops the tags in Shiro’s outstretched hand. And there, engraved in the silver, is Keith’s name. “He left them for you?” Shiro asks, running his thumb over that precious, precious name. 

James snorts, shoves his hands into the pockets of his officer’s pants. “Fat fucking chance of that happening. I stole them.” And Shiro realises that James loved Keith too. “I thought you were smart, Shirogane.”

He stares down at the dog tags. “I wondered what happened to them. Keith had no family, no one to give them to.” 

“You’re an idiot if you think that,” James drawls but doesn’t elaborate and Shiro doesn’t ask him to. 

He doesn’t care, just slips the chain over his head. “Thank you, Lieutenant.” 

“You know, I don’t envy you.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, _Golden Boy_ , that being on the top is a shit place to be.” 

Before Shiro can respond, James turns and strides off. Shiro’s left standing there, in the blazing heat of the desert sun, wondering what the **fuck** just happened. 

_I guess I’ll have to watch my back._

His promotion comes a week later and he trades in his orange cadet uniform for officer’s greys. A month later, buried in paperwork, a mentor program from hell that forces him to interact with starry-eyed recruits, and a schedule that threatens to crush him, Shiro thinks he might understand what James meant. 

He’s the _Golden Boy_ now. 

It’s what he’s worked so hard for since Keith died. 

His electrostimulation bracelet continues to beep, an omen for what's coming. 

***

The first foster father he’d ever had he rips apart with bare hands (and he enjoys it far more than he should).

From then on, it’s a series of blurred faces he barely remembers and must have been dragged from the depths of his long-term memory - children from the home, foster families, school bullies and teachers, the revolving door of social workers assigned to his case. 

Everytime, he smells sulphuric acid and tastes mud. 

**It’s fine to enjoy it. It’s not real.**

***

Six months into being an officer, there’s a medical breakthrough that _rocks_ Shiro’s world to its core. It’s an experimental implant into his brain that would not cure but manage his disease better. He wouldn’t need the electrostimulation bracelet. It means he could have **decades** , instead of years (or months even). It means **space** , without worrying his body will give up on him. 

**Freedom.**

A **future** , his mother is ecstatic to tell him. She doesn’t understand when he storms out the house, guns his hoverbike, and disappears into the desert. 

His father finds him at Keith’s shack, drinking the bourbon Keith didn’t finish before he left, before he left and died. Kenji doesn’t comment on his underage drinking. He collects a glass from inside and pours himself a tot. 

“Why do I feel like everything’s falling apart, _Otou-san_?” Shiro whispers.

“Big changes, even good ones, are still changes and humans aren’t as adaptable as we pretend to be.”

“I haven’t thought _beyond_ becoming a pilot for so long and now there’s so much to think about.” 

“It’s okay to be overwhelmed, Takashi-kun.” He feels his father’s eyes on him, almost intrusive in how much he’s seeing. “You didn’t think about what would happen if you were to actually surpass Keith-san.” 

_I didn’t think I had the time_ , he can’t say. _I didn't think I'd have to live a whole life without him._

Of course, his father would shoot straight for the centre. Kenji Shirogane only says what needs to be said. Shiro’s grandfather was the same. 

An avalanche occurs within him. The fragile snow he’d used to cover the mountain Keith occupied in his heart comes crashing down, thundering in his ears, barrelling down his spine. He shoves his face into his knees and sobs. 

“He’s gone and he’s not coming back and he’ll never _see_ ,” he chokes out. 

“I know.” Kenji pulls his son into his arms, holds him as he crumbles before him. He’ll rebuild himself, Kenji knows. He’s never met anyone as resilient as Takashi. 

_I’ll find him_ , Keith had said to Kenji all those years ago. 

He only wishes Keith hadn’t left Takashi behind. 

***

At the end of the day, it’s Takashi that saves him. 

Because no matter how far down the rabbit hole Keith has gone, Keith _cannot_ kill him. The witch tries to make him, prods at him like he’s a misbehaving tiger at a circus.

And he snaps. 

It’s a blur how he escapes. All he knows is that it’s almost too easy. A rage fuelled high from the quintessence flowing through his veins, a series of lightning bolts from his fingertips, two dead druids, at least ten dead sentries, and a stolen aircraft later, and he’s gone. 

And all he can think is _I’m coming home, Takashi._

_You’d better be alive._

***

Shiro’s first mission, what was meant to be a simple jaunt to Mars and its permanent settlement (consisting of two scientists and an engineer), goes _exceptionally well_ for him _._ He delivers his supplies but has to change his course to Earth when he discovers one of the scientists is suffering from red dust poisoning. The man’s lungs are bleeding. Shiro’s quick thinking and even quicker piloting saves Doctor Lebedev’s life. 

It’s a media sensation, and it’s something the Garrison desperately needs after the dark stain of _pilot error_ and Kerberos. 

Shiro poses for pictures, answers questions from gossip-hungry reporters (who have been trying to spin a secret affair between him and the scientist _twenty years_ his senior), and accepts his Purple Heart at a small ceremony a month after his twentieth birthday.

Iverson claps him on the shoulder and offers him a rare, full smile. It’s a little toothy and unpracticed and Shiro almost laughs in his face. “Good work, Officer. I always knew you were going to do great things.” 

“Thank you, sir. It’s been a privilege serving.” The words are hollow and his smile is plastic. 

He wants to scream. 

Adam finds him later on, after curfew, alone and on the roof of the Garrison. Things haven’t been simple between the two of them (and a lot of that is on him, Shiro knows), but since Shiro’s disease is now manageable, it’s been easier. Shiro hadn’t realised how heavy the weight of a terminal illness actually was until it was just gone. 

Adam tangles their fingers, lifting their hands to his lips. His caramel eyes are soft. “I’m proud of you, babe.”

“Thanks,” Shiro responds, not looking away from the stars. 

“Keith would be proud of you as well.” 

Tears well in the corner of his eyes and he aims a watery smile at his boyfriend. He turns to Adam, cupping his face and tilting it towards his. “I know,” he whispers against soft lips. 

It’s two in the morning when what feels like an earthquake shakes through the Garrison. It _feels_ like an earthquake but it _sounds_ like a spaceship entering Earth’s atmosphere. It's important to note that there are no active missions at the moment. Shiro is throwing on clothes ( _Keith Keith Keith_ , is running through his head on repeat) when Iverson’s voice over the intercom ordering all cadets and junior officers to remain in their rooms breaks through his frenzy. The Galaxy Garrison is in lockdown. He freezes, warring with duty and **Keith** , until his hoodie hits him in the face. 

“Go get him, Shiro,” Adam orders, and there’s a bittersweet smile on his face. “Go get your man.” 

**Your man.**

“Adam, I -” he trails off, helpless, unsure of what to say. 

“It’s okay, Takashi.” And it’s the first time Adam’s called him that. “I knew. I _always_ knew you weren’t mine.” 

“I love you,” he blurts out (and it’s the worst fucking time for it). “Not in the way you deserve but I do.”

Adam rolls his eyes and snuggles back down into his nest of blankets. “I know, you idiot. Now _go_.”

Shiro yanks on his Garrison-issue boots over his leggings and runs for the door. Now that he’s a junior officer, he’s allowed to keep his personal transport on base (a small mercy). He guns the engine on that same electric purple hoverbike from all those years ago and follows the billowing smoke. Once he’s close enough but not too close that he’ll be spotted, he stops and pulls binoculars out of his backpack. The Garrison moved quickly. Guards patrol the perimeter of what he assumes is a small makeshift lab, but he _has_ to do something because while the ship is decidedly not the _Persephone_ , it’s also like nothing else he’s ever seen before. 

It has to be Keith.

A series of explosions about three kilometres northeast of the wreck answers his prayer. 

The majority of the Garrison personnel immediately take off to investigate and Shiro seizes his opportunity. He’s not the first one. As he enters the tent, he sees the guards are already taken out and he sprints into the main area to find… Lance, Hunk, and their new teammate (Sunny Gunderson, he recalls from the mentor program). Sunny and Lance are supporting a person between the two of them. They're too busy bickering with each other to notice him. Shiro surges forward, dodging around Hunk, and screeches to a halt as he catches sight of someone he hasn’t seen in two years. 

And it’s **not** Keith.

It’s Katie Holt, small with a scar running over right cheek, sagged between Sunny and Lance like a ragdoll. He circles the room desperately but there’s no one else. 

“Shiro,” Hunk calls, voice soothing, like he’s talking to a wild animal. 

Shiro whirls on him and Hunk takes a step back, hands up. “Where is he?” And he sounds agonised to his own ears. “ _Where_ is he?”

“He’s not here, bud. I’m sorry. Keith’s not here.”

Keith’s not here.

_Keith’s not here._

**Keith’s not here.**

“But we are,” Lance snaps (and Shiro knows Lance hasn’t forgiven him). “And we need help.”

 _You show up for family, Shiro_. “I have a hoverbike,” Shiro manages. “And a shack.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on Lance’s face (and maybe he’s not as despised as he believed). “Let’s go then.”

It’s not Keith but maybe if Katie Holt is alive then Keith is too. If he is, Shiro will find him. 

_See you later, Hotshot._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this! It was quite a tricky chapter to figure out. Initially, Adam and James both had villain roles but then I decided against it. Just because they weren't the right people, doesn't make them bad people.
> 
> Side note: James was the one who set off the bombs after he spotted Shiro sneaking out. 
> 
> Second side note: Where the fuck is Keith? ;)


	4. run away, I'll understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry about that whole situation with deleting and re-uploading this chapter. Anxiety is a bitch sometimes and it walloped me yesterday. Today, however, I got it. 
> 
> This is the chapter I should've uploaded all along. It starts the same then goes completely different!

**chapter 4: run away, I’ll understand**

Keith’s shack hasn’t changed at all since the last time Shiro visited - the day he found out about the implant that would manage his disease and give him a future. There’s a tumbler with a single sip of bourbon left in it that's sat on the side table since his and Keith's last night here. It's Keith's. Shiro can still see his lip print on the glass rim. He can’t tear his eyes off that small mark as Lance and Sunny lift Katie’s unconscious form onto the still unmade bed. 

“Her breathing sounds normal.” Lance is soothing, sounding so much older than the last time Shiro spoke to him (and he can’t even remember when that was). “She’s going to be fine, Sunster. She just needs rest.” 

Sunny, who is a trembling slip of a thing, adjusts too big glasses on her nose, amber eyes impossibly wide and scared and _furious_. It’s a confusing mix that Shiro can’t muster up any sympathy for. “What did they do to her?” she asks. 

“I don’t know,” Lance answers. “We’ll have to wait until she wakes up.” 

Hunk pops his head into the bedroom. “There’s some canned tomatoes and pasta. I can whip something up.” He coughs and eyes Shiro warily. “Is that okay, Shiro? This is your place.”

Shiro tears his eyes off the tumbler. Everyone is looking at him. “It’s Keith’s,” he whispers. 

Hunk blinks. “What is?” 

“The house. It’s Keith’s.” He’s shivering and he shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie to hide it. “He grew up here. That’s why there’s bourbon in the glass. It’s Keith’s.” 

He’s not making sense but Hunk nods like he is. “Okay, bud. Would Keith be cool if I made pasta?” 

Shiro nods. “He liked pasta. There’s meat in the deep freeze. If the microwave doesn’t work, hit it.” 

“You got it.” 

He hears Hunk leaves rather than sees because his eyes well with tears. They spill down his cheek, hot, salty rivers that betray how _hurt_ he is, how disappointed. 

“We have it from here, Shiro," Lance dismisses him callously.

He stumbles out into the living room and to the cabinet in the corner where he knows there’s a spare bottle of _something_. Vodka, is what he finds. Cheap and it tastes like petrol but there’s three quarters left and that’s enough for him to forget. He grabs it and collapses onto the couch. Hunk shoots him a look but says nothing - and **that** says a lot about how much Shiro’s ruined their friendship. 

Keith would be disappointed in him. 

He doesn’t drink, just holds the bottle and peels the label off, until Lance appears sometime later, flopping onto the couch next to him, careful not to touch him. He reaches over and wrestles the bottle from Shiro's grip without a word. He takes a swig straight from the bottle, pretends not to choke on it, then holds it out.

“Have some.”

“I, uh, don’t like bourbon.” 

“Who does?” Lance snaps. “This is vodka anyway so just _drink_ it. I can’t take you looking like a kicked puppy.” 

“Keith likes bourbon,” is all Shiro can say. 

Lance takes back the bottle and glugs, grimacing. “Yeah, well, he has crappy taste in alcohol. This is **disgusting.** ” 

A thread snaps. Shiro leaps up, fists clenched. Lance merely raises an eyebrow, challenging. “Just shut up, Lance,” he snarls.

“Or what, Shiro? You going to swing on me?”

How he _aches_ to punch Lance right in his smug face. It’s only his Garrison training that prevents him from doing so. Well, that and the voice in the back of his head that sounds too much like Keith. It’s almost laughable as he’s pretty sure Keith would’ve decked Lance already. 

“Lance -” Hunk tries but Lance whirls on him and his mouth snaps shut. 

“No, Hunk, I’m _sick_ of this. We tried to be there for him and he made it clear that we weren’t good enough. Adam wasn’t good enough either, was he?” Lance’s words slice like knives. He glares at Shiro. “The only one who has ever been good enough for you is _Keith Kogane_. It’s a little hard playing second fiddle to a **ghost**.”

“He’s alive!” Shiro yells, and his voice breaks.

Lance is on his feet now too, toe-to-toe, chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose. “Then where is he, Shiro!?” Shiro goes pale. “Where is he? Tell me that.”

“ **Lance, stop,** ” Hunk orders. 

Lance takes a step back, throwing his hands in the air. “Whatever. I’m going to take a shower.”

The vodka bottle is slammed onto the coffee table, ringed with old marks from beer bottles and coffee mugs. Shiro watches a drop run down the side. Keith is alive. He has to be.

**He has to be.**

_Then why didn’t he come back?_

Shiro chokes on a sob and sprints out the front door, ignoring how Hunk calls after him. He makes it a good ten metres before he collapses to his hands and knees. Sand runs through his fingers as he tries to find something **solid** , something he can hold onto. There’s nothing though. 

**He’s untethered** , a tumbleweed in the wind. Desiccated and near dead, searching for water in a desert where there’s none to be found. 

He doesn’t know how long he’s out there for. He ignores Hunk’s calls that food’s ready and Lance’s sniping that _he’s an asshole_. The tears have dried up. His face is tacky from the salt. He sits back on his hunches, wishes he’d brought the goddamn vodka out with him, focuses on his breathing until his chest doesn’t feel as tight. 

Dawn is about to break when he hears footsteps behind him but doesn’t turn to see who it is. Hunk probably, or Lance. He’s not sure which is worse; Hunk’s forced warmth or Lance's cold rage.

“Officer Shirogane?” 

Well, that’s a surprise. “What are you doing here, Sunny?” 

“Lance is a dick,” Sunny announces. She taps the bottle of vodka against his shoulder. “Drink.” 

“You’re far too young to be offering me vodka,” he mumbles but takes the bottle and downs a good quarter of it. 

“I’m _seventeen_. I’m not a child.” 

Shiro scoffs at that. 

Sunny is silent for a moment. “I didn’t know Keith well. He came for dinner a couple of times. Pidge used to call him Cowboy.”

Shiro processes this information and arches a brow up at ‘Sunny,’ who has Katie Holt’s eyes and Shiro can’t believe he didn’t notice earlier. “You’re not Sunny Gunderson, are you?” He doesn’t wait for the response. “You’re Matt Holt.” 

Matt is unimpressed. “I thought you knew. We spoke at the launch.” 

“The glasses and skirt kind of threw me for a loop. Plus I don’t care.” And that’s a bit brutal. Shiro sighs. “I don’t mean that.” 

“Yeah, you do but I get it.” Matt plops down on the sand next to him and grabs the bottle. He takes a swig, doesn’t flinch (and Shiro doesn’t know if that’s impressive or worrisome). “The _Persephone_ landed. I **know** you know that.” 

Shiro ignores the accusation, hoping he'll drop it. “Why the alias, Matt?” 

“I got banned from the Garrison for hacking their restricted files,” Matt boasts, chin raised, grin feral, fiercely proud. “I needed another way in. It’s easier than you think to make a new identity.” 

“Apparently.” 

“You didn’t do anything about it,” Matt continues. Nope. He's not going to drop it. “You just _accepted_ it.” 

“I knew they covered up how it happened,” Shiro admits. His head is beginning to feel drugged from the alcohol and words feel _heavy_. “But I did believe Keith was dead. I believed it up until earlier tonight when that spaceship crash landed.” 

“Whatever you say, Officer Shirogane.” Matt’s tone is snide. He gives Shiro the bottle and scrambles to his feet. “I’m going in.” 

In the end, Shiro passes out on the porch chair. It’s how far he manages to drag himself after finishing off the vodka. He dreams of Keith for the first time in a year. Keith’s naked beneath him, body writhing, back arching, nipples pink and perked, as Shiro opens him with his fingers. And he’s stunning. Sweat sheened over muscle, flush bright on his cheeks, eyes sex-drunk and galaxy-wide. When he wakes, panting and red-faced, the blanket someone was kind enough to cover him hides his hard on. It's a small miracle. 

“Well, good morning, gorgeous. Nice dream?”

Shiro winces, stomach roiling, head jackhammering. He rolls his head to the side and spots Lance on the other chair, watching him with something like disgust. “Not now, Lance,” he groans. 

“You’re pathetic.”

“Probably,” Shiro agrees.

“You’re pathetic,” Lance repeats. “But you’re still my friend.” Shiro just stares at him. “It hurt, man. When you shoved us aside. I _know_ it was a shit time for you but we didn’t deserve that.” 

“I know."

Lance waves him off. “I don’t care either way.” It’s a lie. “You hurt _Hunk_ though, and there is no one in the world who deserves that less than him.”

“I’m sorry,” Shiro croaks out. He's desperate, for water, for painkillers, for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, Lance.” 

Lance studies him with cedar-brown eyes, searching for something. He must find it because he nods sharply and slaps his thighs, grinning when Shiro cringes from the sudden noise. “Katie’s awake. Get your sorry ass in gear.” 

And that’s the closest to forgiveness he’s going to get. It’s enough for now.   
  


***

Keith’s taken enough hits in the last deca-phoeb to know that this won’t kill him. But it still hurts _like hell_.

“Hold still, _zaran_.”

He grits his teeth as long fingers probe the wound on his left shoulder. It’s deep and on Earth he would be given stitches. But there’s nothing like that out here, on the fringes of the known universe where the rabble hides from the Galra. Yavanna, his half-Galra half-Elanzaran saviour, places the last of their healing pads on the cut. The low burning that follows means it’s working. 

This is the worst part. Keith is _fine_ with the sharp stabs of pain but the low burning, the consistency of it, reminds him of Haggar. 

“Peace, _zaran_ ,” Yavanna soothes. Her voice is odd, like wind chimes. “It will take some time to heal.” 

**Fuck**. He can feel the panic rising, a balloon swelling in his chest. “Thought you might say that.”

He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t show any sign of his inner turmoil. Keith’s good at hiding but Yavanna is even better at seeing. “Haggar is not here. _I am_. Me and Nethig.”

Nethig is Yavanna’s small dog. Well, dog is a stretch but it’s the closest comparison he’s come up with. She’s the size of a chihuahua and covered in short fur the colour of desert sand but she has six legs, a prehensile tail three times as long as her body and large, fox-like ears. Her aquamarine eyes are huge and pupil-less. Keith has seen Nethig behead a full-size Galran soldier with the sharp, black, knife-like tip of her tail. Now though she’s curled up in his lap, tail winding around his leg. She tightens her grip when Yavanna says her name.

He pets her velvety ears. She lets out a funny little croon and his lips twitch. Nethig is a glutton for affection, any and all forms of it. The balloon in his chest winds down a little. “Thank you. Both of you.” 

“We are _klaxa_ now, Kithra.” She can’t quite twist her voice around his human name. “ **Family** ,” she changes to the English word. “You are mine and I am yours.” 

And she reminds him so much of Takashi. Takashi, who will die on Earth thinking Keith’s dead and never know that Keith _lived_. Takashi, who he will never see again. Keith bites his lip to keep in the low whine that threatens to slip out and banishes Takashi from his mind. 

Of course, Yavanna, as in tune to him as a musician is to their instrument, notices. She rumbles deep in her chest and presses against his side. It still surprises him that the Galra are such a tactile race. She’s purring, though she doesn’t understand the meaning of the word. To her, it's _rela_ , a soothing mechanism. He hates that it works, even as he craves it. Keith turns his head, presses his forehead against hers. 

Yavanna is the third person he’s let close enough to be considered family.

She saved him from Haggar after all. 

Yavanna had been born in a Galran prison. The Elanzarans are (Yavanna refuses to speak in the past tense about her people, even though she’d never known them) a warrior nation. They were one of the last to fall to Galran occupation. The semen of her Elanzaran father had been harvested and used to impregnate her Galra mother. All part of Haggar’s program to create supersoldiers. 

And to some extent, Haggar had succeeded. Yavanna is **formidable**. 

She’s Keith’s height with pale, iridescent, blue skin and cropped chocolate-brown hair. She’s whipcord lean, weighs almost as much as an elephant and is as strong as one. Quintessence bounces off her thanks to something Yavanna calls a _mindshield_. Her explanation had left him lost but he understood enough to know that Haggar never managed to get into Yavanna’s head like she had with him. So Yavanna had been transferred to a small outpost where the druid Macidus had been tasked to break her. She had escaped on the journey there, launching her escape pod mid-hyper jump. That had been around two-hundred deca-phoebs ago. 

She’s spent the time since on a one woman crusade, rescuing prisoners and sabotaging Haggar where she can. It’s what led her to him - Haggar’s newest supersoldier. He’s joined her fight now. 

“Yavanna, why do you fight?” 

It’s a question he’s asked time and time again. She always gives the same answer. “Hate is a strong emotion, _zaran_. You either turn it outward or let it consume you or, if you're careful, you do both. I do and it fuels me. I _will_ destroy the witch. Will you join me?”

It’s the question she always asks in response. 

He can’t help but smile. “ _Aja a lor okag._ ” 

**Until my last breath.**

And it’s not the most complicated declaration of love he's experienced (his Galra mother had left him a knife) but it’s tangible and it chases the shadows that linger in his mind. 

“Sleep now, _zaran_.” Brother. “I will keep the demons at bay.” 

Yavanna’s purring reminds him of Takashi’s snoring. He slips into sleep and dreams he’s in Takashi’s arms in Keith’s small home on Earth. 

  
  


***

**Shiro is not doing well.** He’s the leader, the head of Voltron, the _Black Paladin_. Even though he’s lion-less until Allura locates the Red Lion. Allura assures him it will make sense once he has connected with the Black Lion. Shiro knows that's not true. He doesn’t feel like any of these things he’s meant to be, Lion or not. He’s foundering - a row boat with a leak - and _no one seems to notice_ that he has no idea what he’s doing. He's going to get them all killed. 

“You don’t have a clue what you’re doing, do you?” 

Strangled laughter bursts out of him. Of course, Pidge would notice. “I thought no one’d noticed.” 

“Oh no, we _notice._ The others just _want_ to believe that you know what you’re doing.”

“And you don’t?”

“Denial isn’t going to help me find my father.” 

He turns from where he’s been hunched over his console in the command centre. Pidge is leaning on her seat. There’s a backpack at her feet. His heart sinks but he can't say he's surprised. Pidge has made no secret that she doesn't want to be here. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?” 

“I have to find him, Shiro. The Red Lion isn’t mine, despite what Allura _wants_ to think.” She cocks her head, studies him like he’s a puzzle she can’t figure out but is determined to. “I know you want to find Keith just as bad. Come with me.” 

He’s shaking his head before she’s even finished speaking. “I can’t, Pidge. I can’t abandon this team, not even for Keith.” 

“You love him.” The corners of her mouth twitches. “I _knew_ it.” 

Irritatingly, Shiro blushes. “I do,” he confirms. “It’s how I know he wouldn’t want me to find him if the cost of finding him is the universe.” 

“He is a self-sacrificing asshole,” Pidge snipes, but it’s not mean-spirited. He knows she misses Keith too, regrets that she can't remember what happened to him. “He tried to stop them. Stood in front of that traction beam like an _idiot_.” She hesitates. “You know, for a second, he succeeded.”

“At stopping the traction beam?” When Pidge nods, Shiro straightens up. “How?” 

“I can’t explain it either, but Keith **stopped** it.” She bends over and hoists her backpack onto her shoulder. Offers him a careless shrug, but there’s emotion _brimming_ in her eyes. “You're a good leader, Shiro. Trust yourself. Keith did and he's usually right."

“Thank you,” he manages to get out as the leak in the rowboat rips wider. 

When the door slides closed behind Pidge, he sinks under the waves.

***

“I’m pinned down here, Kithra.” There’s a brief pause. “I need help.”

Yavanna is pragmatic. She asks for help when she needs it, without qualm. She has _never_ asked Keith for help during a raid. Keith swears. “I’m escorting the prisoners to an escape pod. Can you hold on a little longer?” 

There’s a brief pause as Yavanna calculates her odds. “Five doboshes.” 

“I’ll be there.” 

The prisoners aboard this particular ship are survivors of the infamous gladiator ring. It’s a slaughterhouse for the entertainment of the Galran generals. All the prisoners on this ship were injured. A blessing as the Galra do not use ‘damaged goods.’ They were being transported to a work camp in the Andraxian system when Keith and Yavanna attacked, following a decoded message about a Lion (and Keith remembers the caves back on Earth with their drawings of a blue lion and a soft calling in his head). The calling has become _incessant_. It’s different from before. It’s louder, bolder, angrier. Yavanna seems to know what it means but she’s been reluctant to explain it.

Keith hasn’t pushed. If it’s important enough, she’ll tell him. 

He ushers the prisoners into the escape pod, disables its tracking system, and sets the coordinates for the closest Haven moon. “The rebels will help you get home,” he explains. “The code word is _valta_.”

A green-skinned alien nods. Keith doesn’t know how the alien manages to smile after all it’s been through but it does. “Thank you, Saviour.” 

He cringes internally at the term _Saviour_ but gives what he hopes is a gracious nod. “I hope you find your home again.” 

He engages the pod and steps back as the doors shut. He watches for a precious thirty ticks to ensure the prisoners make a clean break then spins on his heel and sprints towards where Yavanna is, to where he’s being _called_.

When he bursts into the hangar, he makes a beeline for Yavanna who is crouched behind a console under a barrage of laser fire. She’s holding her own against the endless stream of sentries but only just. He skids down next to her. 

“You made it, _zaran_.” 

“Sorry I’m late.” 

“Better late than never. That is how you say it, correct?” 

He grins, even though he knows she can’t see it from behind his mask. “Yeah.” Keith peaks over the top of the console, almost loses his life for his troubles. “Where’s Nethig?” 

Yavanna lifts her cloak from where it’s draped over her chest. Nethig is cradled in the crook of her left arm. Her tail is missing, dark blue blood leaks sluggishly from the wound. “Fuck,” Keith curses. A snarl itches in his throat. He can’t lose Nethig, can’t lose _anyone_ more. “ _Monsters_.”

“She will be alright, _zaran_ ,” Yavanna soothes, “but I cannot fight them all with one hand. You need to connect with the Red Lion. She will get us out of here.”

Of course, Keith had noticed the gigantic red lion-shaped spaceship encased in some kind of red force field but his immediate concern had been getting to Yavanna. He’s become too used to weird things to give it even more than a passing thought. However, as soon as he focuses his attention on the Lion, he _hears_ it in his head. It’s smug and challenging and reminds him a lot of Pidge.

 _Prove yourself_ it says, not in discernible words but Keith understands the intent. 

We don’t have time, he argues. 

He’s ignored. 

“Kithra?” 

“I have to prove myself,” Keith grits out. “It won’t let me in.” 

“ _She_ is a tough one.” And he wishes Yavanna didn’t sound so amused. “I had heard rumours.” 

“You connect with _her_ then since you seem to get on so well,” he snarks. He pulls a small, homemade grenade from his belt and pulls out the pin, throwing it over the console to where the sentries are advancing on them.

“She is not for me!” Yavanna shouts over the sound of the explosion. “She is yours and you are hers!”

Keith takes a deep breath and peaks over the console again, using the time he’s earned from the grenade to get a lay of the land. The grenade wasn’t enough. There are too many. Keith closes his eyes and thinks **fuck it**. He hits the button to open the hangar door. 

_If I’m yours_ , he challenges as he's sucked out into space, _then come get me._

The Red Lion does. 

  
  


***

Pidge hadn’t felt the need to tell Matt she was leaving. Shiro had dropped by his room to check in on him, see if he was alright, and Matt had torn into him with all the force of a hurricane. 

“You didn’t think to _stop_ her!?” Matt yells. His face is red with rage but beneath it, he’s quaking. He’s been left behind again. Shiro can empathise. 

“No one can be forced to be a paladin, Matthew. You have to _choose_ it.” Allura’s voice is soft without attempting to _soften_. She understands grief and she does not deny Matt his. “Shiro didn’t know she hadn’t told you.” 

Tears blaze trails down Matt’s face and he looks so unbearably young. Stars, they all are. Too young for this. “Matt, I know it’s not the same but _we_ are here for you. _We_ will never leave you.” 

Lance nods at him and there’s something like respect and, more importantly, **trust** in his eyes. Hunk, whose arm is wrapped around Matt’s shoulder, aims a smile at him (not guarded or forced but **real** ). “Shiro’s right, Matt. We’re a team now.” 

Shiro shakes his head. “No, we’re _family_.” 

Lance snorts. “Sappy, Shiro, even for you.” 

Matt giggles wetly. 

Shiro aims a punch at Lance’s shoulder, giving him all the time in the world to duck away. He doesn’t. “Shut up, Sharpshooter.” 

“Uh, I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news but who will be the Red Paladin now that Pidge is gone?” Hunk asks. “We need them if we’re going to form Voltron.” 

Who indeed?

***

A couple vargas later a transmission comes in. It’s signature is that of the Red Lion. An alien with humanoid features except for her pale blue, shimmering skin, maroon irises and yellow sclera, fangs and pointed ears identifies herself as the Red Paladin. 

Her name is Yavanna.

“The Red Lion has set a course for your location,” she informs them in her odd, bell-like voice. “She’s coming home.” 

“We welcome you, Red Paladin,” Coran beams. “The Castle of Lions awaits.”

“Half a varga,” is all Yavanna says before she hangs up.

For some unwarranted reason, Shiro feels _despondent_ , even as the others cheer. He had, somewhere in his heart, thought that the Red Paladin would be Keith.

***

Yavanna slips out of the pilot’s chair as soon as the transmission cuts. Kithra kneels in the back of the cockpit, wrapping a bandage around Nethig’s wound. There’s something manic about how he's moving. He is one of the most graceful beings she’s ever come across but his movements now are jerked and harsh. His hair, half-fallen out of its braid, covers his eyes. It’s purposeful, she knows. He does this to keep her from _S_ _eeing_ him. But there’s a faint sheen of sweat to his cheeks that Yavanna has learned to read as a sign of internal distress, rather than physical exertion. 

“Her tail will grow back, _zaran_. This is not the first time she’s lost it.”

Kithra looks up now. His pupils are slits and his sclera has bled yellow. His stripes, usually a dull, dark grey-purple, brighten to violet. She doesn’t need to remove his gloves to know his hands will be clawed. Yavanna has never met a part-Galra who can shapeshift. He's even more lovely when he's like this, in her opinion, except he cannot control it. It’s evidence of how he teeters on the edge of sane and _feral_ , like how she’d found him. She takes a step forward and Kithra curls over Nethig protectively, hisses at her. 

Yavanna's large, pointed ears flatten against her head. “Kithra,” she growls out his name like a warning. “ _Peace_.”

He stills.

She edges closer, reaching out. He watches her hand. His smaller, pointed ears twitch. It's a tell. So she's prepared when he snaps sharp canines at her. Yavanna whips her hand back and uses her other one to scruff him, hauling him to his feet, pressing her thumb and forefinger to the glands behind each ear. Kithra yowls, thrashing, but he’s going boneless in her hold, helpless against pleasurable pressure on his glands.

“Quiet now, kit,” she chimes. “We are _safe_.” Once she’s sure he won’t bite her, Yavanna draws Kithra against her, pressing their temples together. She doesn’t purr, just holds him. 

Eventually, he tucks his nose behind her ear and inhales. “Y-Yavanna?” he slurs. “Where are we?”

“In the Red Lion.” 

“Is Nethig… ?” he trails off on a frightened warble. 

“She is fine, _zaran_. Her tail will regrow.”

Kithra breathes her in once, twice, three times before he tugs out of her hold and steps back. She lets him, though her instincts scream to pull him closer until he is fully settled. Yavanna has learned the hard way that Kithra does not like to be coddled. 

“We will be landing in fifteen doboshes.”

He runs his tongue over his fangs. “I’ll be ready. And, Yavanna?” He taps her hip twice with his fingers. “Thank you.”

***

Lance is bouncing on the spot as the Red Lion lands in its hangar. He can't seem to help it, no matter how hard he's trying to be cool for their newest paladin. Shiro’s sure Lance’s more excited about how beautiful Yavanna is (since his attempts at wooing Allura have gone nowhere) than at the fact that they’ve found their Red Paladin. 

“Lance, will you chill?” Matt hisses. “You’re embarrassing me and she’s not even here yet.”

Lance throws Matt an exaggerated wink. Allura’s disdainful sigh is weighted, a supermassive blackhole of _exasperation_. Shiro understands it on a visceral level. “Behave, paladins.” 

“Anything for you, Princess,” Lance simpers. 

“Lance,” Matt’s groan is loud enough it almost drowns out the Red Lion lowering its giant head, maw opening.

“Focus, team,” Shiro orders. “We need to make a good impression.”

“Oh, I intend to.”

Someone hits Lance. Probably Matt. Shiro’s lips twitch despite himself. A figure descends down Red’s ramp. It’s Yavanna. She’s even more eye-catching in person, all angular, feline features and willow-slim curves. Shiro is sure he can hear Lance’s heartbeat from here. He prays for strength.

“Welcome, Yavanna,” he greets, removing his helmet and stepping forward. “My name is Shiro. I am the Black Paladin.” 

Yavanna’s slitted pupils blow out then contract. “You are human.” 

“Uhh, yeah, we are. You know about humans?”

Her smile is secretive. “Oh, yes. Well.” Yavanna lifts a hand to her ear, speaking in another language, too soft and quick for their translators to pick up on. “Apologies, paladins. I have deceived you. I wanted to be sure you were who you claimed to be. I am not the Red Paladin.” 

“Then where is the Red Paladin?” Allura’s voice has lost some of its usual warmth, and Shiro is reminded that beneath her gentle manner, there is solid diamond. “If you’ve _harmed_ -”

“Peace.” Yavanna’s expression is serene. “He is unharmed. He merely has a fondness for dramatics.”

“I’ve tried to explain to her that it’s a human trait,” another voice comments. 

_That voice._

All their attention flies to the figure standing atop the Red Lion’s head, cradling a small creature in his arms. A mask and hood covers his face but Shiro _knows_. And he feels like he’s in a fever dream. How _long_ has he waited to hear that rasping, cocksure voice?

“It can’t be,” Lance whispers.

The figure reaches back with one hand and pulls his hood off. The mask dissolves and there _he_ is, indigo eyes and inkspill hair a _mess_ and _alive_. “Unfortunately, it can.” 

“Keith,” Shiro says, voice faint over the blood rushing in his ears. 

And then Keith smiles. Shiro has long thought of Keith as starbright but now he realises that Keith’s the _sun_ , scorching hot and blinding. “ _Takashi_.” And his name on those lips could raise cities to the ground. “You’re here.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro gets out. “I’m here.”

***

Yavanna had suspected that the Black Paladin was perhaps the friend Kithra had told her of once. Though he’s older than the image she had glimpsed in Kithra’s head, she is sure this is him. Still, even suspecting this, she is taken aback when Kithra leaps down from the Red Lion’s head and all but shoves Nethig into her arms so he can launch himself into Shiro’s arms. 

They crash to the floor. 

Shiro is strong, or he seems to be, but he buckles under the force of Kithra’s affection with a breathless _oof_. Yavanna lifts her hand to her mouth to cover her grin as Kithra flattens himself against Shiro, burrows into him like a burr. Shiro winds one arm around his waist. The other slides up between his shoulder blades and Shiro’s hand fixes itself to the back of his head, fingers lost in raven hair. His braid has come undone fully now. Both of their heartbeats race towards the other. When they sync, Yavanna understands. It is _love_ , colossal and all-consuming and _endless_. 

“Okay, I’ve got to get in on this,” one of the paladins, the one in yellow, blubbers and bends down to scoop both of them into his arms. Shiro is laughing through his tears. “You found each other. I can't believe it. You guys _found_ each other.”

The other two paladins join the mix. “Finally,” the blue one cheers. “Shiro can stop being a disaster!” 

He squawks as the little one elbows him in the ribs. “Don’t ruin the moment, Lance.” 

The orange-haired man whoops and joins in. Kithra doesn’t notice anyone other than Shiro. He would not be in the middle of a group hug if he did. He’s purring, something he has done only once before. It’s subtle but she hears it over the chaos. Nethig hears it too and squirms in her hold, hissing her disapproval at being left out. She runs her finger between Nethig’s eyes, crooning in Galran to soothe. She settles but Kithra will need to make it up to Nethig later unless he wishes to lose another thermosuit to her sharp claws.

“You speak Galran,” a voice colder than Ilmar’s frozen surface cuts through Yavanna’s musings. 

Nethig's ears flatten against her head.

Yavanna turns her head and takes in the woman beside her. “Yes, I do.” The woman has pink quintessence lines beneath each narrowed cobalt eye. “You are an Altean.”

The woman’s chin lifts (Yavanna likes her more for it). “Princess Allura of Altea.”

“A pleasure,” Yavanna returns. “I am Yavanna of Elanzara.”

“According to our information, Elanzara fell almost a thousand deca-phoebs ago.”

It’s a challenge, a dare to deny what is obvious. However, Yavanna has _never_ denied who she is and she prefers Allura’s straightforward approach to shifting eyes and cold shoulders.

“I am part-Galra, as is Kithra.”

Allura jerks at that, a small loss in composure before she gathers herself. “The Red Paladin is Galra?” 

“ _Part-Galra_ ,” Yavanna corrects. Unbidden, a low growl rumbles in her chest. Allura’s ears twitch and her expression darkens. “I apologise, Princess. He is important to me and his story is unknown. Until Haggar took him, he’d thought himself fully human.”

“How could he _not_ know?” 

“Ah, he did not look like that in the beginning. His stripes, his fangs, the _purring_ , manifested after Haggar’s experimentation.” She pauses to give Allura a couple of ticks to process this. “Princess, the Galra have taken as much from me as from you and more than you know from him. Be at peace with what we cannot control.”

Allura is silent, considering. 

“If you cannot accept it, do not show him that,” Yavanna continues. “It has taken a long time for Kithra to even acknowledge his Galra side. He will not find peace if he is not accepted.”

There’s a small break in Allura’s expression and Yavanna sees the _devastation_ the Galra have wrought on her. “I cannot promise to accept him.”

“You are honest. It is an honourable trait. Be honest with him if you cannot hide it. But remember, Princess, honesty without tact is cruelty. Do not be cruel or we will leave.”

Allura stiffens. “Is that a threat?”

“Peace,” she soothes. “Our fight is the same as yours, as are our blades.”

“I do not trust the Galra. The Elanzarans and the humans, however, I do.” Allura takes a deep breath. “I am sorry for what happened to your people. That Voltron was not there to stop it.”

“Voltron is here now,” Yavanna replies. Her grin is feral, all fangs. “I will have my justice, as will you.”

***

Keith has taken to sleeping in his room, in his bed. He starts out on the other side of the bed and ends up plastered against Shiro’s side, the dip of his nose pressed to Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro _burns_. 

He had not thought it possible for Keith to be more _stunning_ , but his Galra traits are a revelation. The delicate points to his ears, the deep grey-purple stripes, and his sharp, small fangs make Shiro want to go to his knees and worship. He’s not subtle about it either. It’s been two days since Keith and Yavanna’s arrival and Matt’s threatened to push him out the airlock on multiple occasions. Hunk just shakes his head and does his best to ignore what a disaster Shiro is. 

Even Lance is scandalised. 

Yavanna keeps giving them knowing looks. Keith’s reaction to these looks, spasming ears and a pale, pretty lilac blush, gives Shiro the vaguest hope that perhaps he’s not alone in his feelings. Keith shifts against him, fingers creeping up Shiro’s chest to tuck under his tank, to lie against his heart as though Keith _needs_ to feel his heartbeat. He mumbles something incoherent and nuzzles against Shiro. 

“Talk to him, for all our sakes,” Lance had begged earlier that day, clutching at his arm. He had just stepped out of the Black Lion after Sendak’s attack. The first time the team had formed Voltron. “Please, Shiro, you’re killing us over here.” 

Shiro had rolled his eyes and swatted Lance away. “Don’t be such a drama queen.”

“Don't be such a coward then, Shirogane.”

Lance is right. He is a coward. He doesn’t want to ruin whatever this is between them with words. Not when Keith hasn’t said much since his return. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened when he was with Haggar or what happened after. Yavanna has outlined the basics though and Shiro is fine with that. He understands it to a degree. He hadn’t advertised his disease until he was sure it would be accepted. _But_ there’s a niggling suspicion in the back of his head that asks _is Keith really back?_

He hasn’t asked about Shiro’s disease. 

Not once. He’ll press himself against Shiro, make the most endearing little chirrups and purrs that turn Shiro’s insides to mush, but he _doesn’t ask_ how Shiro made it here, how he’s still alive, how he doesn’t have an electrostimulation bracelet around his wrist. You don’t know go through what Keith did and come out unscathed. He isn’t expecting Keith to be the same but this seems like a fundamental change. 

It makes him nervous. 

“Takashi?” 

Shiro glances down and finds Keith watching him. His eyes turn a little more Galra in the dark, glowing like a cat’s. “Hey,” he murmurs back. “Did I wake you?”

Keith’s eyebrows gather a little. “No?” 

He sounds unsure. Shiro’s right arm, the one that’s around Keith’s shoulders, tightens. “Is everything alright?” A little more yellow bleeds into Keith’s sclera. Shiro thinks his stripes look brighter too. “Keith?” 

“You’re not real,” Keith hisses, and there’s a flash of very sharp teeth as Keith twists out of his arms to press himself against the wall.

“I’m real, Keith.” He fights to keep his voice calm. “You’re in the Castle of Lions. We found each other.”

Keith sneers at him, loathing drips from him like poison. It shakes something inside of him. “Hah. That’s what you always say. _I’m real, Keith_ ,” he parrots. 

Shiro sits up and inches forward. “Keith, what’s going on?” 

“Don’t come closer,” Keith warns.

Shiro makes the stupidest mistake then. _He doesn’t listen_. He inches forward, determined to get Keith back into his arms where he’s safe and Shiro can take care of him, can fight whatever demons have taken hold. It’s the worst thing he could’ve done. Keith **snarls** at him (a deep, guttural sound) and lashes out. A _claw_ catches Shiro across the bridge of his nose. 

His flesh rends. The pain knocks the air from his lungs. He falls backward onto the floor, clutching his nose in an attempt to staunch the blood flow, trying to _comprehend_ what the fuck is going on. As soon as he puts pressure on his wound, he yelps. A small, pained noise. It brings Keith back. Shiro sees his eyes focus. Once he realises what he’s done, his face crumples and that hurts Shiro more than anything else.

Keith doesn’t not a shatter, not like glass. It’s like a rose pressed between the pages of a book. He folds in on himself. His eyes slam shut. His breathing kicks up, edging towards hyperventilation. He draws his knees to his chest, makes himself as small as possible. His skin is covered in lavender splotches.

Shiro panics. He’s in so much pain and the man he loves is in so much pain, and he just panics. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay. This is real, baby,” he babbles, pushing up onto his knees. His hands, trembling and covered in crimson, hover in the space between them. “I’m here. You’re safe now. You’re safe. Stars, I love you -” 

Shiro freezes. Keith freezes. Both of them stare at each other, wide-eyed and shocked, mouths hanging open, harsh breaths too loud in the sudden silence. What the fuck has he done? 

He lets out shaky breath. “Keith, I -”

Keith **runs**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! A special extra thank you to those who are reading this for a second time. <3
> 
> There will be another chapter after this. It's planned and I'm super excited to write it. 
> 
> I've also made this story into part of a series. I'm thinking about doing a stand alone of Yavanna and exploring her more.


	5. pushing our luck, getting wiped out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks. The final chapter! 
> 
> Please note that I have edited the tag Mild Sexual Content to Sexual Content. It's nothing too intense. If you haven't had a problem so far, you won't have one now. 
> 
> PSA: I did quite a significant edit on the previous chapter (God, there's always one chapter that's the problem child). Just in terms of how it's written, not changing the story in a significant way. If you're interested, feel free to check it out!

**chapter 5: pushing our luck, getting wiped out**

He hurt Takashi _and it was real_. 

It wasn’t a hallucination.

 _It was real_.

He shoves his fist into his mouth to muffle his distress calls as he sprints down the corridor, following Yavanna’s scent. It feels _wrong_. His whole being is screaming for **Takashi Takashi Takashi**. For him to turn around and melt into Takashi’s strong arms. He wants to drown in that familiar scent of sea salt and wood sage. It’s home for him. 

_You almost killed him_. Haggar’s voice is gleeful in his head. _You did so well, little one._

Keith tears into Yavanna’s quarters. She is standing next to the bed, waiting for him. Nethig is curled up on the pillow but her head is raised, eyes on him. Twin expressions of concern. On a broken warble, he throws himself into Yavanna’s arms. She catches him, as she has ever since she’d followed his stolen ship, pulling him from its wreckage and into her arms as she does now. She cradles him against her chest - he weighs nothing to her - and purrs. 

She says nothing. Yavanna has mastered silence. Despite what people think, silences can be deafening. Unasked questions feel like a gut punch. Accusations are more gutting when unspoken. Yavanna knows this. Her silence is a vacuum and it’s _blissful_. He lets her vibrations echo through him, lulling him. His sobbing calms to horrible, hiccuping sounds. Nethig has climbed up his back and is tucked against his shoulders, head resting atop his. The front of Yavanna’s sleep shirt is soaked when he pulls back. 

“I called the Blue Paladin.” Lance McClain, Keith’s brain supplies. “He is going to check on Shiro.” 

Of course, Yavanna knows what happened. He can smell Takashi’s blood, salt and iron, from here. Yavanna’s nose is even better. She can probably smell Takashi’s _fear_ , his _hatred_. “I - I - I -”

“No, _zaran_ ,” Yavanna chimes. “You are not to blame for this.” 

He jerks but her hold tightens. “I _almost_ killed him.”

“I doubt that. You hurt him, yes, but not because you wanted to.” 

“I saw his face,” he hiccups. Stars, he’s a mess. “He _hates_ me.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of hating you.” 

“I almost killed him,” Keith repeats, “and all he could say was that he _loves_ me.” 

Yavanna purses her lips, considering, then shakes her head. “Well, I must admit, confessions should be better planned but I cannot say I’m surprised. Kithra, the man looks at you like you hung the stars.” A small trill slips out of his lips uninvited and he flushes. Yavanna’s smile is knowing. “You look at him in the same way.”

He averts his eyes. Nethig lets out a series of little chuffs. She’s _laughing_ at him. He jostles his shoulder and she lets out a squeak as she almost topples backwards onto the bed. “Serves you right, you little punk.”

“Be nice to Nethig. She has felt quite neglected.” Yavanna makes a sound like a rattling bell. It’s her _what am I going to do with you_ sound. “You cannot avoid this, Kithra.”

He lets out a plaintive mewl. “ _Yavanna_.”

“The Galran term is _olrial_ ,” she croons, rocking him. “It means ‘souls that fit.’ It is precious and rare. I have experienced it once. His name was Pol and he was everything to me.”

She’s distracting him. For once, he welcomes it. Yavanna doesn’t disclose much about her past unless it’s relevant. He’s never heard of Pol before. “What happened to him?” 

“He died the day I found you.” His breath hitches, turns it inwards. “No, _zaran_ , it had nothing to do with you,” Yavanna cuts off his panic at the head. “Pol went with the prisoners that day. There was an engine malfunction in their escape pod. No one made it out. I lived because I followed you.”

“Sometimes it’s harder to live,” Keith whispers. 

“Feelings are feelings, _zaran_. They are neither good nor bad. They merely _are_ ,” is the answer he gets. “Pol and I had over one hundred deca-phoebs together. That can be enough for now.”

Keith sniffs, lifts the hem of his t-shirt to wipe at his face. He peeks up at Yavanna through his bangs. “For now?” 

Her expression is unbearably fond. She runs her hand down his messy braid, gives the end a gentle tug. “Souls are endless, Kithra. There is space for more.”

“I don’t want _more_ ,” he says vehemently. “I want Takashi.” 

“Yes, I know.” Her ruby eyes twinkle with amusement. “Everyone on board knows except your Shiro.” 

He _knows_ his cheeks must be the colour of a plum. Keith scowls. “You don’t have to be so smug about it.” 

At some point, Yavanna had shifted him out of her lap. They’re sitting, shoulder-to-shoulder, on the bed. Nethig has moved to Yavanna’s shoulders. He flops back onto the bed with a loud groan. Nethig echoes the sound. Yavanna’s datapad beeps. She picks it up and scans the message. 

“Lance has patched Shiro up,” she informs him. “He wishes to see you, if you’re comfortable with that.” 

Keith swallows hard. “Okay.” 

Yavanna sends off the message then drops her datapad onto the bed. She beckons for him to sit up. “I must rebraid your hair.” 

***

“Keith’s up for it,” Lance declares and holds up his datapad as proof.

Shiro feels like he’s gone ten rounds against the training bot and this is the first breath he’s taken that doesn’t burn his lungs. He’s sitting on a hospital bed in the medbay. His nose is throbbing but the healing patch Lance had stuck on it is helping. It’s deep but thin and Lance had informed him it would scar. He’s offered to lend him an oil that will help lessen it. 

“Thanks for doing this, Lance.”

“Don’t sweat it, man.” He clears his throat and rocks back on his heels. “Listen, I know things haven’t been great between us.” It’s a massive understatement. “But I’m here if you need to talk.”

Shiro hasn’t told him what happened but Lance is smarter than he shows on a regular basis. He’s put two-and-two together but he’s not asking, though he must be _bursting_ with curiosity. “You’re a good friend. I’m sorry it took me so long to realise it.” 

“It’s okay,” Lance chirps. “You’re kind of slow on the emotional things.” He sniggers at whatever Shiro’s face does then sobers. “You picked a shitty time to tell Keith you love him, but he loves you. It’s a little gross how much.” 

“It’s not gross,” Shiro mutters. 

“Yeah, it is.” He pokes Shiro’s shoulder. “Listen, Shiro, Keith’s had it rough. He’s going to need time and support and a whole of love. Just don’t let what he’s going through overshadow what you need.” 

For a moment, Shiro is _stunned_. “ _Wow_ ,” he draws out the word. “That was actually good advice.”

Lance sticks out his tongue, but his cheeks pink. He tucks his hands into the pockets of his khaki hoodie and saunters to the door. He tosses Shiro a shiteating grin. “There’s lube in the medical supply closest.”

Shiro throws a hydration pack at him. Lance ducks out the door just in time but his giggles echo down the corridor. And despite the fact that his dick had twitched at even the _idea_ that he and Keith might need lube, he can’t help but grin. Lance is a good friend. Shiro makes a promise to tell him more often, even if it’s just to see him blush. 

“You look pleased with yourself.”

His head snaps up and Keith’s leaning against in the entrance way. He is back to his new normal. His hair has been re-done in a French braid, face bare and unguarded. Shiro gulps, winces at how loud it is. “Um, just Lance being Lance.”

“I like him.” 

His throat feels like sandpaper and he wishes he still had the damn hydration pack. “Yeah, he doesn’t put up my shit.”

“Good.” 

And there’s just a little too much of a bite in it. Shiro’s shoulders slump. He fidgets with Keith’s dog tags. He keeps them, as well as a few other things he’d grabbed from the shack before they’d left Earth, in a box under his bed for when he needs to feel close to Keith. He’d pulled them out without realising after Keith had fled. He doesn’t realise Keith has moved until slim fingers slide over his to flip over the tags. 

“These are mine.”

Shiro looks up. Keith’s so close. He still smells like the desert, like sweat and wind and sand, and Shiro _aches_. “James stole them,” he whispers. “He gave them to me.”

Something flashes across Keith’s expression. _Regret_ , Shiro realises. It’s an unfamiliar emotion to see on Keith. “I wasn’t good to him.”

“You weren’t good to each other,” Shiro corrects. 

“You were good to me.” He sounds so sure of it. “You were always so _good_ to me.” 

Shiro is helpless to say anything but, “I love you.” 

Keith looks away. His fists clench. “Takashi, I’m not the same person. You need to know that.” 

And it’s like salt in an open wound. “I do know. You didn’t ask me about my disease, Keith.” He’s angry, he realises, angry in a way he’s never been at Keith. “You didn’t ask me _anything_.”

Keith looks like he’s about to rattle apart but Shiro makes no move to hold him. Not this time. Lance was right. “Every time I’m with you, I struggle to tell whether it’s real,” Keith rasps. “I couldn’t - not if I was going to lose you again.”

Shiro’s eyes screw shut. He takes a deep breath. “There was a medical breakthrough. An implant in the base of my skull. It’s complicated to explain but I’m not going to die. Not because of the ALS anyway.”

There’s a brief pause then Keith speaks. “The witch injected me with quintessence.” Shiro looks at Keith and Keith looks right back. “It made me hallucinate. I killed my father, Pidge, Sam, so many others -” His voice cracks. “After a while, I began to enjoy it. Until you. I could never kill you. She tried to make me but I couldn’t. _I love you_.”

They both have red eyes and tear tracks down their faces. Both sniffling. “We’re such messes,” Shiro croaks out. 

Keith’s laugh is watery. “But you love me.”

“Yeah, I do.” 

Shiro reaches out, wraps a hand around Keith’s wrist and tugs. Keith comes to stand between his legs, fingers tracing feather-soft over the wound on Shiro’s face. “I love you too,” he whispers and leans down. 

They meet in the middle. 

***

Lance, who is crouched outside the medbay with his ear to a glass that’s pressed against the door, lets out a muffled whoop and punches a hand into the air. When he gets back to his room, he sends out a message to everyone on board.

_They did it. Avoid the medbay._

Matt sends a gif of someone vomiting.

***

Shiro has dreamed of tracing Keith’s stripes with his lips, his tongue, his _teeth_ as he does now. Keith is a vision, pliant and spread out beneath him like a feast. Shiro’s a man starved. The stripes slash over Keith’s hips, wind around his thighs, and he follows them, a devout worshipper. He sucks a deep, purple mark into Keith’s inner thigh. 

The noise Keith makes is _holy_. 

He avoids Keith’s cock. It’s flushed lavender and ridged, dripping onto his heaving stomach. 

“Takashi, _don’t_ \- ah - _tease_ ,” Keith tries to sound stern but it comes out gasping. 

Shiro grins up at him and twists his fingers against Keith’s prostate. Keith’s hips buck and another blurt of precom drips. “What do you want?”

“ _Fuck_ me, Takashi.”

Shiro swears. He rears up to press his lips to Keith’s in a kiss that _sears_ itself into his skin. “Okay, baby. Okay.” 

***

Keith arches as Takashi slides into him, a burning, all-consuming stretch. Takashi’s teeth are fastened to Keith’s shoulder and he’s groaning, deep and low as he presses _in in in_ until all of him is buried inside Keith. 

“You feel -” Takashi pants, breath scalding against him. “ _Keith_ , baby -”

Keith rocks his hips up, mewls at the hot drag against his prostate. “ _Takashi_ \- _ah_ , move.” 

And, earth-shatteringly, Takashi does. 

***

Shiro carries Keith through the dark corridors. He’s in his sweatpants and has managed to wrangle a disgruntled, sleepy Keith into his boxer briefs. The rest of their clothes are piled on Keith’s cum-streaked stomach. 

As he passes Yavanna’s door, it opens. Shiro freezes and goes scarlet. “W-we, er, were just _talking_.” 

She arches a brow. “My hearing is _much_ better than yours, Shiro. I know well what you were doing.” 

She doesn’t _sound_ upset but it’s hard to tell with Yavanna. 

“Oh.” 

“I wished to congratulate you.” 

“Right now?” he blurts out, incredulous. Keith grumbles in his arms and tucks his head into Shiro’s throat. Shiro’s arms tighten around him. “Hush, baby.”

Yavanna watches them, amused. “You are well suited. Take care of him, Shiro.”

“I will.”

She steps back into her room and Keith peaks up at him through his bangs. “She likes you.” 

“You were _awake_ this whole time?” Shiro hisses. “You’re an _asshole_ , Kogane.”

Keith just snickers. 

***

It’s much later when Shiro wakes to fingers running over the healing patch over the bridge of his nose. The fingertips are calloused and so, so _known_. “It’s not your fault,” he mumbles. 

“It’s going to scar.”

“I don’t care.” He cracks one eye open. Keith is propped up on his elbow next to him and although his face is impassive, Shiro knows better. Keith has turned it inwards, is blaming himself for what Haggar did. He's suddenly very awake. “Keith, stop. I don’t blame you. Haggar did this. Just don’t shut me out again.”

Keith chokes out a disbelieving laugh. “God, how are you so _good_?”

“You wouldn't blame me if our positions were reversed.”

Keith lends forward to pepper kisses across the bridge of Shiro’s nose. “I’m still sorry. For _everything_. I should’ve talked to you. I should’ve known you would understand.”

Shiro doesn’t argue that Keith has nothing to be sorry for. “You’re forgiven.” He grins. “I guess the great Keith Kogane isn’t perfect.” Keith smacks his chest but he snorts. Shiro catches his hand and tugs Keith down against him. Keith goes without a fight, moulds himself to Shiro like he's putty. “Now _s_ _leep_ , Kogane. You’re a fucking mess when you’re tired.”

“ _Dick_ ,” is the succinct response. 

  
  


***

They wake to the incessant pinging of their datapads and Allura’s voice over the intercom demanding everyone report to the command centre. Keith scowls and rolls over, smushing his face against Takashi’s muscled pec. He smells like sweat and spice and sage. A hand slides down his back, fingers slip between his ass cheeks to circle where he’s still wet and loose from last night. 

“ _Ah_ , Takashi, stop.” He bites at Takashi’s nipple in retaliation when those fingers dip into him in the most frustrating kind of tease. “ _Takashi_ ,” he whines. “Allura _will_ send someone to find us.” 

Takashi withdraws his fingers and pats Keith’s butt. There’s mischief in his quicksilver eyes. “Let’s go then, baby.” 

“You’re a menace,” Keith curses as he forces himself out of bed. 

Takashi laughs, carefree and bubbling, and Keith can’t find it in himself to be mad. Not when the man he loves is so obviously happy. It satisfies some base instinct inside of him. He kneels to find where his other sock has disappeared to, peering under the bed, and instead finds a box, a box he’s certain was his father’s. He draws it out and opens it. In it is his notebook, his mother’s knife, and a collection of photos of him and Takashi. 

“Takashi, what is this?” 

Takashi is pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Give me a sec.” As soon as he gets a good look at what Keith’s holding, his cheeks flush. It’s endearing how easy it is to fluster him. “Oh, that, um - I missed you and, well -” he shuffles his feet “- I wanted to bring a part of you with me.” 

Keith picks up his mother’s blade. The tears that come unbidden are a surprise. He cradles the blade - something he never thought he’d see again - to his chest. Lips press against his forehead, hands grip his shoulders, grounding him, keeping him present. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Takashi murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

“You’re such a _sap_ ,” Keith snarks through his sniffling.

Takashi’s smile tattoos itself onto his skin. “Your sap.” 

Keith leans back just to roll his eyes at this ridiculous man. Takashi’s grin widens. “Okay.” Keith takes a deep breath. “I’m fine now. I just - Thank you. This blade was from my mom. It means a lot to me.” 

Takashi tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “You’re welcome.”

***

When they make it to the command centre, it’s chaos. Yavanna fills them. A distress beacon from Pidge’s ship had come in late last night. Matt is determined to go after her. Lance appears to be threatening him with bodily harm if he does.

“We can’t split up Voltron,” Lance insists. “We don’t know when Zarkon is going to strike next. We need all five paladins.”

Matt crosses his arm, expression mulish. “I’m going.” 

Keith steps forwards, lays hand on Matt’s shoulder. “I’m going too. I owe it to Pidge.” 

Allura runs a hand over her face. She looks exhausted. “Matt, Keith, I understand you’re concerned for Pidge but Lance is right. Team Voltron needs to remain together or we’re all vulnerable.”

“They are right, _zaran_.” Shiro winces as Keith wheels on her. All the force of a sandstorm flashing in his indigo eyes. Yavanna cuts him off. “I will go.”

Keith’s mouth snaps shut and _confusion shock panic hurt_ flitter across his face. “Alone?” 

She steps forwards and taps two clawed fingers to the centre of his chest. “Your place is here, Kithra. With Shiro and with your team.”

“But -”

“I will return, kit,” she soothes, butting her forehead against his. 

Keith bares his teeth. “You’d better, Yavanna.”

***

“Thanks for backing me up.”

Keith wipes the sweat from his eyes. He’s on the training deck. He’s just _eviscerated_ the level six training bot. Matt is leaning against the wall, shoulders hunched, eyebrows pulled together. He doesn’t look thankful. 

“You look like you want a fight,” Keith comments.

Matt glowers at him. “I should have gone with Yavanna.”

“I get it but Allura is -”

“Don’t tell me Allura’s _right_ ,” Matt snaps. “I don’t care.” 

Keith tilts his head. His nostrils flare. He can _smell_ the adrenaline coming off of Matt. “You want to spar?”

Matt stalks forward, bayard activating. “Sure thing, _Cowboy_.” 

Matt’s got excellent reflexes. He almost slips under Keith’s guard twice. However, he’s too green. He expects his opponents to fight fair. Keith’s learned better. After ten minutes of letting Matt batter at his defenses, Keith trips him. He crashes to the floor and when he sits up, bruise already forming on his forehead, Keith’s sword is pointed at his face.

“That was a dirty trick.”

“The Galra don’t fight fair, Matt,” he chides. “You mustn’t either.” 

“I don’t want your advice.” 

Keith arches a brow. “What do you want then?” 

“She left me!” he yells without warning. Furious tears well in his eyes and he hurls his bayard across the training deck. “She left and this time she didn’t even tell me!” 

_Pidge, you fucking moron_.

“You should be pissed then.” Matt falters at Keith’s agreement. Keith extends his hand and hauls Matt to his feet. “I’d be pissed too.” 

Matt bites his lower lip. “Did she think I wasn’t good enough? Because I’m _weak_ and -” 

“Whoa there, Matt,” Keith interrupts. He grips Matt’s shoulder, like how he used to when Takashi was seventeen and his world was crumbling around him. “ _She_ failed _you_. This is on _her_. Don’t turn it inward or it’ll consume you.”

Matt snorts. “You sound like some fucked up soothsayer.” 

“Yavanna told me that actually,” is his mild response. “It’s served me well enough.”

Matt looks up Keith, eyes hard and searching. “Will Yavanna bring her back?” 

“Yes, or she won’t come back.”

***

Allura and Lance were right. Sendak’s attack comes not two quintants later during a banquet for the Arusians. Shiro and Keith are in the command centre when the bomb, set and activated by a bribed Arusian, detonates. 

Shiro loses his right arm, mid-bicep down obliterated. He’s draped over Keith’s lap now as Allura improvises a tourniquet with a strip of fabric from her gown. There’s no pain. He’s just _fucking_ tired. His eyelids feel like lead. He needs to close them, just for a moment. 

Someone shakes him.

“Takashi, keep those eyes on me,” Keith orders. His voice is _vibrating_ with barely contained fury. “You’re going to be okay but I need you to stay awake for me.” 

He thinks he nods. 

Allura sits back and studies her handiwork. “I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. The injection I gave him should keep the pain at bay.”

Shiro drifts then. Their words float over him. All he registers is the comforting warmth of _Keith_ , the dull throbbing in his right arm, and the oppressive weight of his exhaustion. He comes to when Keith stands, taking Shiro with him.

“I’ll stay here and keep an eye on Takashi,” Keith is saying. “Go, Allura. I’ll be fine.” 

***

As Allura and Lance run out with the Arusian chief, Keith looks down at Takashi. His eyes are half-open and glazed. The usually bright quicksilver irises are dull. Allura has assured him it’s more from the injection than from blood loss. 

He’s not convinced. 

His ears twitch at a faint clanking noise. It’s a noise Keith is far too familiar with. He swears under his breath. _Galran sentries._ He hears someone bark out on order and his blood chills then superheats. The blood vessels behind his eyes pop and his fingertips burn. _Sendak_. Keith darts out the command centre and down the corridor. If he’s heard Sendak, he has no doubt that Sendak’s heard him. He needs to get Takashi somewhere safe. 

And then he needs to _hunt_.

***

Shiro feels lips against his cheek that press _I love you_ into his skin. 

He wants to say it back but his mouth won’t cooperate. Tongue unwieldy, like a slug in his mouth. 

The drug drags him back under.

***

Keith leaves Takashi in a storage room in the bowels of the Castle and stalks through the corridors, hunting even as he’s hunted. The silence is a bit unnerving. The Castle usually thrums with life - the whirring of its tech, the endless, often aggravating noise of the paladins, of Allura and Coran, the faint buzz from the crystal. Now it’s dark and quiet.

Except for the clanking of the sentries. 

His Galran blood sings to him. A siren’s call to throw himself overboard into the darkness. The stripes that twist down his arms glow violet in the dark. His claws glint and he _itches_ to dig them into flesh, to have black blood spill over them. He wants to lick it off his claws. 

He takes down the sentries, leaving their sparking parts littered down the corridors. 

Haxus takes him down with a stun gun. He’s hit once and he stumbles, whirls on Haxus, lets out a _screech_ of disapproval. He can see the panic flash across Haxus’ face and the dark thing inside him purrs. 

_Fear me,_ _for I am your reckoning_. 

Haxus’ second hit brings him to his knees. 

On the third hit, his muscles give out and he collapses.

Haxus picks him up, claws digging into the sides of his neck, and he’s thrown at Sendak’s feet. His cheek is flat against the cold metal floor but he _glowers_ up at the figure hulking over him out of his one eye.

Sendak sneers down at him. “So this is Haggar’s favourite _pet_.” He toes at Keith’s immobile form. “He’s nothing more than a mutt.”

“Most of our sentries have been destroyed,” Haxus informs Sendak. He’s uneasy. “It took _three_ hits to bring him down, Commander.”

Keith bares his lengthened canines and hisses. 

Sendak grins, wolfish and insincere. “So he’s got fire. We’ll douse it. And I know just _how_.” 

Sendak clicks his fingers and two sentries step into the room. Braced between them is _Takashi_. Limp and far too pale. 

Keith _whines_ , muscles twitching. 

“Is this your mate, mutt?” Sendak grips Takashi’s chin in a large hand and lifts his head. “He’s missing some parts.” Sendak prods at the gaping wound where Takashi’s arm used to be, ripping an agonized groan from chapped lips. “You’re well-matched, I see.”

Keith bites his bottom lip, fang slicing through it, to keep his whine in. 

An alarm blares. Haxus pulls up the console and growls. “The launch has been nulled, Commander Sendak. Power has been cut off from the primary turbines.” Yellow eyes slit. “There’s someone else aboard this ship.” 

Matt. It cuts through the haze of his blood lust. Matt is still in the Castle.

“Find whoever it is and _kill_ them.”

“No!” Keith roars. 

The tips of his fingers crackle with quintessence. His stripes begin to glow white-magenta. Quintessence _courses_ through him. As though some unlocked vault in him has burst open. He’s on his feet now, unsure of how he got there, breaths heaving, sweat pouring down his face. The sentries that had been holding Takashi are in pieces. Takashi is slumped on the floor.

Over the blood roaring, the surging power, he can hear each laboured breath Takashi takes, each sluggish thud of his heart.

“Haxus, deal with the intruder.” The sinister curve of Sendak’s lips deepens. “This one is mine.” 

Keith grins back. Quintessence bubbles beneath his skin, burning him. It feels like it’s been years of famine.

And now - 

And now he gets to _feast._

***

When Matt gets to Keith, it’s almost too late. Black blood drips from his claws, from his lips and down his throat. Sendak lies on the floor at his feet, unconscious but not dead. 

Keith’s head snaps up when Matt bursts into the command centre. Matt’s still shaking - _he killed someone_ \- but he freezes now, a deer in headlights. Keith’s eyes and stripes burn white-magenta, energy snaps in the air around him. 

“Keith?” Keith licks at his blood-stained lips. Matt gulps. “Dude, you in there?” Keith steps over Sendak and Matt stumbles back. “Keith, where’s Shiro?” 

That does something. Keith jerks, spasms, spine bowing. The white-magenta darkens to violet. “ _T-Takashi_ ,” he rasps. “I have to - I need -”

“Just tell me where he is,” Matt urges. “I’ll get him.”

Keith shakes his head and opens his mouth. Then it’s like the power _cuts_. Keith’s glow disappears. His eyes roll back in his head. He drops like a stone. Matt darts forward, manages to catch his head before it hits metal. 

“What the fuck happened in here?” 

Matt looks over his shoulder. Allura and Lance stand there, panting, wide-eyed. He looks back down at Keith. “I don’t have a quiznacking clue.”

***

When Keith wakes, he’s in the medbay on one of the hospital beds. Allura and Matt are there. The first thing Allura tells him is that Shiro is doing well. He’ll be in a pod for another varga and he’s still missing an arm but he’s _alive_. 

And the raw, _feral_ part of him quietens.

“Thank you,” Keith croaks. He takes a sip of the hydration pack Allura gave him. He groans as the cool liquid hits his raw throat. 

“Keith, do you remember what happened?” 

“Yes. I went _feral_ and almost ripped Sendak to pieces.”

Matt grins. “Yeah, dude, it was _awesome_.” 

Keith just stares at Matt. Allura clears her throat. “You did not ‘go feral.’ It’s true your Galran survival instincts were triggered.” He pins Allura with a flat look which she ignores. “However, it’s quite a bit more complicated than that. Your quintessence levels were off the charts. I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

“I felt it. It was like I unlocked something inside of me.” He looks down at his hands, hands that had once been clawed and sparking and covered in black, black blood. He clenches them into fists. “I can’t explain it better than that.” 

Allura’s hand covers one of his fists. He looks up and stills. For the first time, there is no guardedness in Allura’s expression. “You saved Shiro, Keith. You saved the universe. If the Lions had fallen into Zarkon’s hands, it would be over. You’re a _hero_.” 

“Hey,” Matt protests. “I helped.”

Keith swallows. “But what if it happens again? I wasn’t in control, Allura. What if the next time I go after _you_ , or Takashi, or - _anyone_?”

“You are a half-Galra, half-human with druid-like abilities,” Allura replies. “Yavanna told me on the day you arrived that I needed to have peace with what I could not control. I’ve made peace with it. This is who you are. It’s time you accepted it as well.”

“You’re _pretty_ fucking cool,” Matt chimes in. He’s jumped up onto the edge of Keith’s bed and is swinging his legs. His grin is wicked. “Lance is calling you the _Superpowered Love Machine_.”

Allura’s nose wrinkles in distaste. Keith groans. “Ugh, no.” Matt cackles and his lips twitch despite himself. “Thanks, guys. It means a lot.” 

“Hey, that’s what family’s for,” Matt replies. 

***

Shiro wakes to a new arm in sleek, pearlescent Altean metal and to the wide grins of his teammates as he falls into Keith’s arms. 

“Welcome back, Hotshot,” Keith whispers in his ear. 

“It’s good to be back,” he chokes out. 

The group hug that follows is smothering and endless. Shiro buries his face in Keith’s hair, breathes him in. It’s _perfect_. 

***

The prosthetic takes Shiro little time to master. It works like an organic arm. Coran has run him through its additional uses, including its weapon function. 

“Since you don’t have a bayard, I thought you could use a weapon.” 

Shiro stares at his glowing, white-blue hand. It’s sliced through the training bots like _butter_. He grins.

***

Yavanna returns with little fanfare. Pidge is with her. She has a fractured ankle and some bruised ribs but she waves off Allura’s offer of a couple vargas in a healing pod. It had not been the Galra who got her but pirates. 

“ _Space pirates_?” Matt gasps out, all anger forgotten for the moment.

“Space pirates,” is Pidge’s solemn reply. 

Yavanna moves to Keith’s side and rumbles a greeting. “Is all well, kit?”

Nethig winds herself between his legs, cooing. He bends down and scoops her into his arms, nuzzles his face into her tawny fur. It doesn’t surprise him that Yavanna knows something happened in her absence. 

“It wasn’t but it is now.” 

“You have found your place, _zaran_.”

Keith smiles, face still buried in Nething’s fur. Her soft ears flutter against his cheek. “I have.” 

***

And later that night with Takashi wrapped around him like a barnacle, listening to his soft, purr-like snoring, Keith feels over-full, stuffed, _sated_ , like he hasn’t ever before. 

“Your thoughts are so loud I think they woke me,” Takashi whispers. He lifts his head from where it had been buried against Keith’s bare stomach. God, he’s _gorgeous_ and he’s Keith’s. “What’s up?” 

“I’m happy,” Keith admits, running his fingers through that ridiculous forelock. 

Takashi’s smile is sleep-soft and _sappy_. He presses a lingering kiss just above Keith’s belly button. The hint of his tongue causes Keith’s stomach to contract. “Yeah, baby?” 

With a flex of his hips, he reverses their positions so it’s Takashi on his back, splayed out beneath him, hands on either side of his head, _trusting_. 

Keith leans down to whisper against chapped lips, “Yeah.”

And when Takashi’s hands reach up to tug Keith against him, Keith goes easily. 

Later, he’ll remember a phone call he almost didn’t take and how _It’s Shiro_ became _I guess you’d better call me Takashi_. And he’ll think about Hiroshi Shirogane and the words he lived by.

_Never forget to fight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who made it to the end! <3 I appreciate you so much. Your feedback is always welcome and if you have any ideas for stories within this role reversal universe, let me know in the comments.


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